


Almost Machines

by consultingking



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sherlock (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Angst, Arthur Conan Doyle Canon References, Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes Style, Bedroom Sex, Blood and Violence, Bottom Jim, Caring Sebastian, Childhood, Dating, Depression, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Gay Male Character, Gun Violence, Holding Hands, Homosexuality, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jim Has Issues, Jim Moriarty is a Little Shit, Jim is a Little Shit, Kissing, Literary References & Allusions, Literature, M/M, Moriarty is Alive, Moving In Together, Murder, Overprotective, Parenthood, Poor Sebastian, Revenge, Rough Kissing, Sebastian Moran Being an Asshole, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Top Sebastian Moran, Unrequited Love, Violence, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 104,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22954516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingking/pseuds/consultingking
Summary: Jim Moriarty's life seems to be plagued with bad luck. After his family make the decision to move to London due to his father's declining health, Jim finds himself stuck in an endless cycle of chaos and misery. After having developed a notorious reputation for himself back in his hometown of Dublin, he fears that the exact same thing will happen again - a fear that seems to become only too true when on the eve of Jim's twenty-first birthday a drunken mistake sets to change his life completely.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Regretfully, Jim Moriarty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Moriarty has lived in London for one year now and utterly despises it. After the death of his father, Jim is forced to reveal some home truths about himself, as well as accept that his new life in England isn't all that he wants it to be.

“Should we make a wish?”

“It’s a funeral, James, you don’t make wishes at funerals."

The air was bleak as they lowered the coffin down into the grave. It was a strange day, not only because of the weather, but because of who they were here to mourn.

Jim Moriarty, who was stood closest to the coffin, currently had his hands stuffed into his pockets, and wore a general expression of dismay on his face. The suit he was wearing was far too large for him, the trousers were baggy and the tie was too long and kept getting caught in the wind. Jim was small for his age, shorter and scrawnier than the rest of the boys, so much so that he was sometimes mistaken for being younger than he actually was. He had a mop of dark hair that flopped over his face and was in desperate need of a cut, and his skin was pale which gave the impression that he was sickly - even though he wasn’t. His mother stood next to him whilst the priest said a few final words, dressed in her own black skirt and coat whilst her long, dark hair blew uncontrollably in the wind. In her prime she had been a beautiful woman, but over the years she had become old and worn. There was a chubby baby held in her arms - it wouldn’t stop crying.

Soon enough the coffin had been successfully buried, and the headstone it belonged to read as followed:

_in loving memory of_

_JAMES MORIARTY_

_‘1951-1996’_

The grave belonged to his father, who unfortunately also happened to share the same name as Jim. He wasn’t quite sure why he had been named after his father - perhaps it was some sort of sentiment that the boy didn’t quite understand - but he hated it nevertheless. He had hated it throughout the whole of his childhood, before finally at the age of eight he had decided from then on that he would be called ‘Jim’ and not ‘James’. Why? Because that way he was his own person, and besides Jim sounded nicer anyway.

Jim was sixteen years old, and had moved to London the year prior alongside his mother, father, and baby sister. He wasn’t quite sure why his mother and father had decided to have another child so late, maybe it was because Jim’s father was gradually dying from a brain tumour. Despite the birth of his little sister shortly after Jim’s sixteenth birthday, the months leading up to his father’s death had been anything but jolly. The house had seemed much colder, quieter, and his mother’s personality had turned sour - causing her to snap at any mild inconvenience. Jim had kept to himself throughout those final few months, staying cooped up in his bedroom like any other teenage boy, reading comics and hiding cigarettes under his bed to smoke when the rest of his family had gone to bed. And when the death finally came, he hadn’t shown any sort of reaction, he had simply gone out with his mother the following week to go and buy suitable clothes for the funeral and said nothing.

The crowd had dispersed shortly after the coffin had been buried, and the wake was held at the family home that very same evening. The family resided in a small house, just off the outskirts of Westminster. The outside was made up of a wall of dull brown bricks, which mirrored the drab furniture which covered the interior of the property. Upon first moving in, Jim’s father had set about painting the front-door bright red in an attempt to liven the place up, as well as plant a few flowers around the garden. Yet over the harsh winter the flowers had shrivelled up and died, and the paint had slowly cracked and faded away.

Jim’s mother had arranged a half-hearted spread of sandwiches and crisps for the guests, and the remainder of the adults were left to mingle as they enjoyed their food and chatted amongst each-other. Jim had piled some food quickly onto his plate, before scurrying off so that he could sit at the top of the stairs and eat his food in peace. He had skipped breakfast that day, and his stomach had been rumbling throughout the service, much to his mother’s disapproval.

Jim had been ready to take the first eager bite from his sandwich, before a voice interrupted him.

“James, Annabel is crying again- can you take her for a few minutes whilst I go and entertain?

The stern voice belonged to that of his mother, and in her arms she held to the crying baby again. His sister, darling Annabel, was dressed in a stupid, frilly dress and a white bonnet that was far too big for her head. Jim thought that she rather resembled a sack of potatoes, though his remark would have to wait until after the wake.

“Can’t…’m busy,” Jim replied simply, lifting up the sandwich before proceeding to shovel it clumsily into his mouth, crumbs spilling everywhere.

The bread was soggy and tasted a bit like cardboard, which was undoubtably karma for having eaten it so quickly. Jim spat out the food immediately into the nearest napkin, and his mother merely pulled a face of distaste, before quickly turning on her heel to leave.

“Fine. But for Christ’s sake get some manners, there are guests around. If you have nothing better to do than it around and eat then at least come and help clean away some of the plates. The place is filthy.”

His mother’s words had admittedly left him in a rather foul mood, and as she and his sister departed once again to go and join the rest of the guests, Jim took the opportunity to sneak off upstairs. He dumped the half-eaten plate of food down onto his desk, before closing his bedroom door and locking it for good measure. His bedroom was only a small, cramped little room; Jim had already been informed that as soon as he had moved out then the room would be transformed completely into a new nursery for his sister. The thought didn’t sit quite right with him and was rather unsettling, but then again any discussion of his sister was enough o make Jim fly off into a rage. Annabel Moriarty angered Jim more than he sometimes liked to admit; he detested her round, smiling face, her big eyes and her infectious laughter. He had never wanted a sister in the first place, but what he had gotten instead was much worse. She was practically the epitome of goodness and that made Jim’s skin crawl.

The sound of laughter and voices from downstairs could still be heard drifting in through the doorway, and with an irritable huff Jim moved to open one of the windows to try and drown out some of the noise. The sound of the screeching car tyres and drunkards from outside served as enough of a distraction for now, so with that Jim gave a hum of content and came to flop down upon his bed. It had certainly been a culture shock upon first moving to London - Jim hadn’t expected all of the cars and all of the noise, but he certainly preferred it that way. He tried to make himself comfortable at first, but the tie was digging into his neck and making it hard to breathe, so Jim forcibly tugged it off before proceeding to unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt. Better. He could still hear faint traces of the party happening downstairs, and by the sounds of it everybody was rather drunk, and had become involved in sort some of sing-along or something. But Jim felt no desire to join in, he never did when it came to social gatherings.

Before London, Jim had spent the majority of his childhood growing up in Ireland, in the centre of it all in Dublin. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed living there, but then again he didn’t enjoy his new residency in London either; back in Dublin everybody had known everybody, from the priests right up to the milkman who had stopped by the house every morning. With that being said, rumours had always travelled fast, the majority of which always seemed to revolved around Jim.

_‘You know the Moriartys’ son? I heard he killed Mrs Thompson’s cat the other morning. Terrible business!…’_

_‘You remember that James boy, don’t you? Well somebody told me that he’s been caught urinating in the letterboxes around the town.’_

Jim hadn’t had many friends whilst growing up either. He had sometimes pretended that he was friends with Neil Armstrong and they would go and explore outer space together, or that he was friends with Sir Walter Raleigh and the pair of them would go on wondrous adventures together searching for buried treasure. But now that he was older, Jim realised how ridiculous he had been. If he hadn’t been so strange then perhaps the other schoolchildren wouldn’t have avoided him like the plague, but the damage was done and now Jim remained unhappier than ever. He didn’t fit in with the new crowd in London - all of the other boys here spoke in posh, pristine accents, all with the same stupid haircuts, wearing the same stupid clothes. Jim was the odd one out, on his first day at his new school the other boys had sniggered whilst he had tried to introduce himself, a few even attempting to mimic his accent when they thought that he wasn’t paying attention. So in the end Jim had given up.

He was clever for his age, extremely clever to be precise. Mathematics was his favourite subject and his teacher had told him on various different occasions that if he worked hard enough then he could go to university and become a mathematician, or even a banker or accountant. Jim loved how all of the numbers seemed to fit together like a puzzle, how perfectly the equations and formulas seemed to flow down the page and produce the right answer. But people were nothing like equations, they were impossible to solve. And besides there was no way he would be able to afford a university tuition after all.

He must have fallen asleep for a few hours, as when he opened his eyes he found his cheek glued to the side of the pillow alongside a dribble of saliva, and the noise from downstairs had completely vanished. At first Jim wondered whether or not a bomb had been set off and subsequently killed all of the guests and his stupid family members, but the sudden sound of water running from the tap downstairs said otherwise, and he gave a disappointed sigh. In the darkness, Jim crawled to the side of the bed and decided to undress properly out of his funeral attire. After he had stripped down into hid boxer shorts and his clothes had been discarded onto a pile on the floor, Jim eagerly clambered back into bed again, pulling the covers right up over his torso up to his chin. They were bright red, he had picked them out specially.

He had been just about to sleep for the second time before something pricked his finger, and he grunted immediately in pain. There was a thin line of blood trailing across his his skin, leading Jim to realise that it was only a paper cut. Jim searched around the room to try and make out the source of the paper cut, and after a few moments of aimless searching he had finally spotted something in the darkness - the edge of what seemed to be a piece of paper, which was currently poking out from under his pillow. But it wasn’t any old paper, it was a letter. A special letter for when the right time arose. And it read as followed:

_‘Dear whoever is reading this,_

_If you can see this, it means that I am no longer around. I hate you all and I truly wish that you were all dead. But since that’s not possible, I have taken it upon myself to do the honours instead._

_I have been planning this for a long time and I don’t want anybody to stop me. My only request is that at my funeral you do not bring the baby, because all she does is cry and I hate her the most. I hope you all feel bad and you feel sorry about what you’ve done._

_Regretfully, Jim Moriarty’_

The note was self-explanatory enough, and Jim had even considered using it numerous times throughout the past year during some of his worst nights. But right now he was tired, so whatever he had planned would have to wait.

Sometimes he got sad, properly sad. He couldn’t quite explain why he did, but neither could the countless doctors and therapists that he had been made to see. They all pinpointed it merely to puberty - but puberty didn’t make you so sad that you tried to throw yourself in the pond on the way home from school. His mother seemed to pay no interest however, so the miserable thoughts continued to bubble until one day they would inevitably pop.

In the meantime, he simply slid the letter back under his pillow again for safe-keeping, and curled back under his duvet covers again.

The house was still.


	2. Jim's Twenty-First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Jim's twenty-first birthday and an accidental hook-up threatens to plunge the day into chaos.

It was five years after his father’s funeral when Jim reached his twenty-first birthday.

He had long-since moved out of the family home, and after enduring four long years of constant moving between hostels and halfway houses, Jim was finally proud to say that he had rented out his first ever apartment. The block of flats in which he resided were in the South of the city, directly opposite from Waterloo Station. Since Jim was a light sleeper, most nights he was kept awake by the sounds of the trains coming and passing from outside his bedroom window, usually resulting in him being groggy and foul-tempered the following day, that coupled with his next-door neighbours: a recently-married couple whose moans and gasps of pleasure could be heard all day and all night from the other side of the wall. The flat itself was small and cramped, and when it rained Jim had to place a bucket on the floor of the kitchen to stop any leaks from spilling in and ruining the contents of the house - Jim wasn’t necessarily worried about damaging his belongings, he was more worried about what his landlord would say if he ruined anything. He was already on thin ice as it was. There wasn’t a lot of room to put things either, though Jim supposed that was perfectly fine considering he didn’t have many possessions anyway. Of course he had a bed and a fridge, and a little television which you sometimes had to kick in order to get it to work, but apart from that the flat was sparse. When he had been a teenager he had imagined himself acquiring a huge castle or a mansion when he moved out, however the council estate he lived in was hardly a fairytale.

Maybe it was a Grimm one.

His mother had cut contact with him shortly after his seventeenth birthday; it hadn’t exactly been a mutual agreement, after finding a stash of drugs hidden in Jim’s copy of the bible she had confronted her son and made the final decision to kick him out - and his mother and now-six-year-old sister had moved back to Ireland shortly afterwards. Jim hadn’t bothered to ask how they were getting along, but judging by the lack of Christmas cards he received each year he assumed that they were getting on perfectly fine without him.

But aside from that, Jim still considered himself to be the same as always - whether that was a good thing or not he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t grown much over the five years and was still noticeably scrawny, and his still carried the same soft, Irish drawl that he always had. Admittedly his face had changed shape as the time passed, although that was only natural; his jaw and cheekbones had become more prominent as he aged and his face became more slender, a light set of stubble had formed across his chin and just above his top lip. The facial hair hadn’t grown as much as Jim would have liked it to, but he tried not to dwell on it.

He tried not to dwell on his lack of friends either, not that it was particularly important to him. Even growing up Jim hadn’t had friends - mainly because they had all been scared of him. They had been frightened of mean little Jimmy with the cold stare and the prominent scowl. The boy who hurt people that he didn’t like and crushed bugs for fun. At the time he had relished the negative attention that he received, but now it was fair less satisfying. For a short time he had gotten himself a job as a cashier in the local supermarket to help pay for his bills, but he had only lasted around eight months or so before the manager had eventually sacked him for ’appalling customer service.’ Jim had torched his uniform with a lighter the very next day. So from then on he had decided that it was merely him against the rest of the world, and he liked it that way.

On the morning of his birthday Jim had woken up with a throbbing headache, his headache soon worsening at the sight of the stranger fast asleep under the covers beside him. Jim attempted to sit up, only to discover that he was in-fact stark naked. And judging by the lack of clothes and the smell of alcohol which seemed to linger the room, it didn’t take Jim long to figure out that this was merely the consequence of another one of his one-night-stands. He wouldn’t exactly call himself a sex addict per say, but since the start of the year the inevitable feeling of loneliness had started to catch up with him, and soon enough most nights were spent chatting away with different men at the nightclub just down the road, often resulting in Jim and a complete stranger heading home together - only for the other man to have completely vanished by the time Jim awoke the following morning.

Yet today was different; usually each of Jim’s victims took the opportunity to flee in the middle of the night whilst he was still asleep, leaving behind nothing but a measly scrap of paper with not even their phone number or address on. Most of the time Jim didn’t have a chance to even learn their names. But despite this, his partner from the night before was still _there_ , fast asleep in the comfort of Jim’s own bed, and Jim had no clue to who on Earth he even was.

With a sudden pang of fear, Jim wondered if the man was actually dead, but a quick check to his pulse proved otherwise. His pulse was steady, and his heartbeat was perfectly fine. So that led Jim onto his next question… The night before - had they?

Cautiously, Jim crawled forward so that he was now practically on top of the other man, his hand coming to slowly peel back the duvet cover so that he could check to see whether the stranger was wearing any clothes or not. But a sudden shout filled the room just before Jim had the chance to pull back the covers completely, and after recoiling in horror Jim realised that the previously sleeping man was now actually awake.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The stranger had toppled from the bed and landed onto the carpet below, all of his assets now unfortunately on display for Jim to see. Now that he was awake however, Jim had a chance to study the man properly; he was tall, _very_ tall, and looked no older than twenty-five. His hair was short and blond, whilst his eyes were a pretty pale blue. His nose was slightly crooked in places as though it had been broken previously, and there were numerous long stripes across his chest, scars that undoubtably still had yet to heel. The irishman attempted to catch a quick peek at the man’s crotch, but he had hastily snatched a pillow from the side and used it to maintain his modesty, so Jim was left rather disappointed.

“Technically you’re in my flat, so I should be the one asking how you got here,” Jim protested, just as another train rattled past outside and sounded its horn, causing a flock of pigeons who had been perched upon the windowsill outside to scatter immediately.

With a huff, he snatched the boxer-shorts he had been wearing the previous night and tugged them on, watching from the corner of his eye as the other man remained seated uncomfortably with the pillow on the floor. He seemed particularly self-conscious, not because of his genitals but because of the scars that were currently on display, and upon feeling a wave of guilt Jim reluctantly handed over what he presumed to be the man’s clothes. The stranger seemed relieved by the offer, and Jim turned his back as the other man got up and began to change.

“I s’pose it’s obvious what happened, after all me and you weren’t wearing any pants and…fuck, my head hurts,” the stranger grunted again, causing Jim to smile warily.

“I’m Jim.”

“Sebastian.”

His voice was clearly rough from having just woken up, though every syllable was pronounced in a sharp English accent which gave Jim the impression that he must be posh. Or at least partly posh. Jim turned back to face the man again, who was now dressed in a hoodie and pair of grey jeans. He gave a hum of approval, before quickly moving past the stranger, who he simply knew as ‘Sebastian’, so that he could open his wardrobe and pick out some clothes for himself. Whilst Jim was busy deciding on his outfit for that day, the other man seemed to have grown nervous and fidgety, and by the time Jim looked over again he seemed desperate to leave.

“You know I should really go… Thanks for last night, I’m sure it was great and everything but I really ought to leave. Im already hungover as it is, and I don’t want to be late for-“ Sebastian began, before Jim suddenly butted in without giving him a chance to even finish.

“It’s my birthday.”

Sebastian’s words came to a halt, and he stood there with a stunned expression on his face, a look of bewilderment which soon turned instead to a frown.

“Do you often hook up with random strangers on your birthday?”

“Only if I’m feeling generous.”

“I s’pose that makes me your birthday present then?”

Jim smiled in acknowledgement.

“Yes, I suppose it does.”

A small chuckle sounded from Sebastian’s lips, and after putting on his shoes and heading out of the bedroom and towards the front-door, he seemed to linger momentarily. He was silent at first as Jim followed out after him, the poor irishman still halfway through attempting to put on his t-shirt. Though through the hole in the top of his shirt Jim could see the other man’s lips twitching slightly, an indicator that something was still playing on his mind-

“Well, birthday boy, if you have nothing else planned today then how would you feel about meeting up later tonight?… I finish work around six-ish, I can take you out to Southwark for some cake? I’ve heard the Tate is nice,” He offered hesitantly, clearly unsure by his own suggestion. Jim wondered whether the other man had ever done anything like this before, especially with another man. He assumed that it was his first time, and that made him smile to himself.

“I’ll be there,” he confirmed.

Sebastian seemed surprised that Jim had actually agreed to the plan, although that didn’t stop a large grin tugging across the corners of his lips. The shorter of the two secretly thought that it looked rather goofy, but the man was offering him cake so therefore he was on his best behaviour. Damn his sweet tooth.

“How old are you?” Sebastian then asked carefully, only to proceed with:

“Just to make sure that you’re-“

“-Not underage, I know. I get it, first time nerves. I’m tiny with a baby-face and…”

“Wait no, I didn’t mean it that way!” Sebastian interjected with an expression of horror, gritting his teeth as his shoulders seemed to deflate with guilt.

“I don’t mind it, you know… The height thing. I think it’s rather cute. I just want to make sure that what we did was ethical…Well, as ethical as it can be considering the circumstances.”

Jim shrivelled up his nose in dismay at the feeble attempt at an apology.

“I’m not cute,” he retorted sourly, adjusting his shirt ever so slightly as he leant against the wall to observe the other man, his glare like that of a hawk's. Sebastian seemed to realise his mistake, and his face contorted a little in response. ‘Good,’ Jim thought. It served the prick right for calling him cute. He had never liked the nickname, not that many people had ever called him it before. Jim put it down to the fact that he was secretly insecure, and not-so-secretly stubborn.

“And I’ll have you known that a true gentleman never reveals his age. For all you know I could be a two-hundred-year-old vampire about to bite your neck and suck your blood. You know you shouldn't trust strangers.”

Sebastian cocked an eyebrow.

"When Lucy Westenra was bitten by Count Dracula she was asleep. Surely if you wanted to bite me then you'd be sensible and wait until I was asleep?" he questioned skeptically.

"Technically she was sleepwalking," Jim corrected him with a tiny glimmer of a smirk.

Sebastian seemed to relax when Jim gave his response, and suddenly he didn't seem as nervous as he had done so before.

"It's a good thing I don't sleepwalk then."

Jim licked his lips, surveying the other man curiously. He wasn't what you'd describe as his 'typical hook-up'; usually Jim went for the self-absorbed ones, the ones who obsessed constantly over their looks and prided themselves upon having a six pack - whether it was real or fake. They all shared one thing in common which was they were all desperate for some kind of attention, whether that was a night of passionate sex or merely being acknowledged in the club. Jim always enjoyed helping to boost their already-inflated egos, however Sebastian didn't seem to be that type of man at all. That wasn't to say that Sebastian wasn't attractive or sporting a six-pack, because he was both of those things, but instead he seemed to be... normal. His whole life didn't seem to revolve around sex and trying to impress people, and Jim almost envied that. 

"To put your mind at ease, I'm actually. a twenty-one year old vampire. Well- I just turned twenty-one today." He admittedly finally, holding his hands up in surrender as though he had been caught-red handed. Sebastian chuckled in return.

"I turned twenty-three back in July. I guess that makes me old?"

'Very old," Jim agreed. "But since you're buying me cake I suppose I can let it slide."

They both laughed, Sebastian's laugh was much louder than Jim's and sounded a bit like a bark. It was gruff and certainly confident, almost like he had learnt it from somewhere, and it certainly interested Jim, whose own laugh was much more quiet and contained. Though they were both silenced when a demanding series of knocks sounded from the other side of the wall, and the voice of Jim's neighbour could be heard telling them both to ' _fuck off._ ' Thin walls. Jim had nearly forgotten.

"What made you do it then?" Jim asked once they had both quietened down, and the knocking had thankfully stopped. The firm smile that had been on Sebastian's lips had quickly dropped at the question, and he looked both confused and alert, as though this was some kind of trick and he didn't trust the shorter man. So Jim decided to elaborate.

"I'm guessing this is your first time, I mean."

He waited patiently for a reply, and it was a good thing that he did because Sebastian seemed unwilling to give him an answer straight away. It took another few seconds of darting eyes and uncomfortable smiles before Jim's heavy gaze became too much and his counterpart finally caved in and nodded reluctantly.

"What made you guess?"

There were a million ways that Jim could have answered that question - whether it concerned Sebastian's stiffened stance, the way he had chosen to dress himself in grey so that he wouldn't stand out too much, and most importantly the fact that instead of rushing away early in the morning he had chosen to stay as well as having invited Jim out for food later that evening. One-night-stands weren't supposed to do that, it was in the name. But saying all of this out loud would only give them both. headache, and it would probably frighten Sebastian too. So Jim chose not to answer, and just tapped his nose.

"I have my ways, but telling would just be too easy."

Sebastian swallowed.

"My friends said I needed to loosen up, that I needed to go out more," he declared, and Jim could sense the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice. "They told me it would be fun to go clubbing so I agreed, then they all got drunk and buggered off halfway through the night and I was left alone. I don't remember much after that - I suppose I just wanted somebody to talk to."

"Yeah well you ended up doing more than just talking," Jim snorted, only for Sebastian to shoot him a glare. But it was only a playful one.

"If it's any consolation I'm glad you decided to hook-up with a complete stranger," he continued lowly, his words dragging out so that he was practically drawling now. His accent wasn't as strong as it had once been, and moving to London had softened it significantly so that now it was a sort of strange hybrid. However the Irish flare was still noticeably there, and was made instantly more evident by Jim's next shrill declaration:

"Now I can talk about Bram Stoker's works all night long, it's what I've always dreamed of," he teased.

The two of them made eye contact, but only for a brief moment until another train sounded its horn from outside, and Sebastian was reminded that he actually had work to attend unless he wanted to be late and face a disciplinary. Jim caught the look in his eyes, and opened the front-door without another word before taking a step back to allow Sebastian to get through. At first Sebastian looked as though he wanted to say something presumably important, but he had become too flustered so he just offered a sheepish 'bye' and a wave of farewell before hurrying off to the stairwell and quickly disappearing. Jim lingered in the doorway to watch him go, only shutting the front-door again when he noticed one of his neighbours eyeing him skeptically from across the hallway. No doubt it was Mister Madley from flat number seventy-two - he was a foul-mouthed old man who regularly complained about his dodgy joints, and had received so many hip replacements that Jim seemed to have lost count. Local legend had it that Mister Madley was well over one-hundred years old, though Jim highly doubted the rumour considering the fact that he often saw Mister Madley riding his motorbike around Lambeth on the weekends and he only looked around sixty.

Jim locked the front-door for good measure before making his way over to the window so that he could watch Sebastian as he ventured towards the side of the road and hailed for a cab, soon disappearing off in a black taxi. The bedroom itself resembled a bomb site - the duvet had been strewn across the floor and there were still a vast amount of clothes laying around the floor, no doubt they had been pulled off amidst a moment of passion. the majority of them Jim recognised as being his own, so he spent a few minutes fussing around and hanging them back up in his wardrobe again, however one of the items he didn't recognise. It was a brown duffle coat, with slightly worn sleeves and a splatter of dried paint staining the pocket. 

Jim picked it up to examine it some more, only to discover that something was flashing erratically in the breast pocket, emitting a bright blue light that shone through the gaps in the fabric. As expected, the light in question had come from that of a phone, and after carefully slipping the device out of the pocket to further inspect it, Jim realised that it must be Sebastian's phone. By the looks of it it was an old phone, with a multitude of cracks across the middle of the screen, leading Jim to believe that Sebastian was either careless or simply _very_ clumsy. He trailed his thumb against one of the cracks as he admired them, only to accidentally knock the ‘on’ button, causing the phone to suddenly illuminate. A part of Jim was curious as to what secrets might await him if he was to search through Sebastian’s phone, but the simple issue of a password thankfully stopped him from following through with the idea. It was probably for the best, people never seemed to appreciate snooping very much, not that Jim quite understood why.

Despite his disappointment at not being able to unlock the phone, Jim placed it back inside the coat pocket again and placed the coat back onto the bed. He supposed it wouldn't be too much of a hassle to deliver the coat and the phone back to Sebastian later, especially considering that they had arranged to meet up that same night. But for now Jim took a seat on the bed and attempted to mull over what had just happened, but it was virtually impossible. Was he falling for somebody he had only meant to have a one-night stand with? The knot in his stomach certainly implied that he was feeling that way - it was either butterflies in his stomach or sickness from his hangover.

But after spewing up sick all over the carpet, it quickly became apparent that it was merely the latter.


	3. Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim begins to get cold feet about his date with Sebastian. Meanwhile, an incident at the bus stop results in a visit to A and E.

The hours counting down to six o’ clock that evening seemed to drag on forever, yet as the time passed Jim found himself slowly beginning to get cold feet.

One-night-stands weren’t supposed to result in future meet-ups and public outings, that was the whole nature of them. Jim liked it when his hook ups disappeared in the middle of the night, it meant that when the following morning came then there would be no need for any awkward interactions, and the terrible weight would be lifted immediately from Jim’s conscience. Yet for some reason that very thing hadn’t happened the previous night, and Jim wasn’t sure whether that was down to fate or just plain stupidity.

The plan for that night went as as followed: Jim planned to take Sebastian’s coat and mobile phone to Southwark to hand them over, before explaining that he was feeling sick and needed to go back home again immediately. It was a measly lie and probably wasn’t very foolproof at all, but Jim was still hopeful that he’d think of a better story on the walk to the bus stop.

By the time he left the flat that night it was already dark. It had been for a few hours now, though it made Jim feel like he shouldn’t be going out, as if the police would suddenly descend upon him if he even stepped one foot out of the flat. He was carrying with him a cheap plastic bag with Sebastian's coat and mobile inside, and on his way out he passed Mister Madley his neighbour, who was crouched by the side of the road tending to his motorbike. He looked up just in time to see Jim attempting to sneak past, a sort of smirk curling at his lips at the sight of the bag in Jim’s hands, but his beard was so bushy that the smirk was virtually unrecognisable.

“And where do you think you’re going with that bag, young man? I know what you get up to with those cronies of yours, you ought to be careful out there… We don’t want you getting into anymore trouble around these parts” the old man jabbed patronisingly, as Jim was forced to stop in his tracks.

Mister Madley was one of those men who seemed to think that he had authority over everybody else just because he was older than them, and because he claimed that he had once been recruited by the SAS. Jim wasn’t quite sure how truthful the SAS story actually was and admittedly he had his doubts, although he hadn’t bothered to stick around to ask questions. He often never had much nice to say about the young irishman, and out of spite Jim had once purposely set fire to the doormat outside of his house - although that had soon ended in disaster after Mister Madley had called the police on him. And since then, their relationship seemed to have become rather rocky.

“I’m going to visit a friend, he left his belongings at my apartment this morning,” Jim explained, attempting to shrug it off nonchalantly. Although his neighbour’s beady eyes were still fixated upon him, and Jim glanced around to make sure that nobody else was listening in before continuing:

“…And for your information I don’t do _that_ anymore, I’m perfectly fine so if you’ll excuse me then I really should be getting on.”

It was a blatant lie, but Mister Madley seemed to have lost interest so Jim smiled and kept on walking towards the bus stop. He was well-aware that Mister Madley in-fact talking about his habits. His _bad_ habits to be more exact. Naturally Jim had dabbled in drugs before, the harmless kind as well as the not-so-safe ones. He had never been involved in any drug rings or organisations per se, yet that didn’t mean that he didn’t frequently torment his own body just to get a kick from doing so. What had started off as smoking the occasional couple of cigarettes at sixteen had resulted in countless nights spent hanging out of his bedroom window at 2am, high as a kite from some sort of colourful pill. And once the drugs inevitably wore off, Jim was left alone with his own conscience again, and the boredom that overwhelmed him. Without the drugs Jim just seemed to revert back to his old ways again; nights spent screaming until his throat was completely hoarse, or sat in the bathtub until the water turned cold and he was forced to clamber out again before he caught any sort of illness. And after what had happened that previous May, many would have thought that Jim would grasp a much greater desire to change his life around for the better - yet no such desire had ever arisen, nor did he want to talk about what had happened.

Jim reached the bus stop in good time, around ten minutes before he was due to be meeting with Sebastian. His stomach had started to rumble now, and he silently wondered whether or not he should stay and have a slice of cake or two. After all, Sebastian seemed to be a likeable enough character, and perhaps it would give Jim a chance to get to know him a bit more. But it was mainly for the cake.

5:55pm. The bus was late.

Jim had started to shiver now, he had considered sending a text message to Sebastian to let him know that he was going to be a few minutes late, before remembering that he not only didn't have Sebastian's number and Sebastian didn't have his phone on him, so any attempt to contact him would be ultimately useless. The minutes passed and still there was no sign of the bus, which was made worse by the sudden rain shower that had descended upon the city. Jim took refuge under the bus shelter roof, attempting to shield the bag of Sebastian’s belongings in order to prevent them from getting wet. The splashing sound of a bicycle tyre hitting a puddle from behind him alerted Jim initially that he wasn’t alone, however just as he went to turn around to see who was there he felt a sudden blow to his face, and the bag was quickly snatched from his grip before he had time to stop it. It was only a light bag so it had been easily grappled out of his grip, and when Jim looked up again it dawned on him that the culprit had already cycled away, the hood of his coat was flipped up to hide his face, and the bag containing Sebastian’s mobile phone was hooked carefully around the handlebar of the bicycle.

“Arsehole!” Jim shouted in protest after the cyclist, but the downpour was too strong and his words seemed to have become lost in the wind.

A dull pain throbbed around his left eye, and similarly around his bottom lip which Jim soon discovered to be bleeding. He dug around aimlessly in his pockets in an attempt to find something to mop up the blood, eventually pulling out a crumpled napkin and pressing it to his lip to try and ease some of the pain. For the most-part he was unsure what to do; there was no way he could go and visit Sebastian considering that a man had just stolen all of his belongings, and besides the sign at the bus stop now read ‘ _CANCELLED_ ’. Jim supposed that he could go back to his flat and sulk for the rest of the night, although the pain around his eye had worsened considerably so eventually he decided that dragging himself to A&E would be a suitable plan of attack.

By the time Jim arrived, the rain-shower had finally stopped and his clothes were left dripping wet. The A&E department was fairly quiet considering the time of night, so with an air of shame Jim dragged himself over towards the front-desk to explain what had happened.

There had only been one woman at the front-desk when Jim arrived, and upon seeing the state of the man she had thankfully offered her sympathy. The receptionist logged him onto the system, before gesturing for Jim to take a seat in the waiting area, where five or so other people sat dotted around watching some sort of news channel on the television on the wall.

Jim took his seat, and had been sat there uncomfortably for around ten minutes or so when the doors to the entrance opened again, and a familiar face entered, looking rather flustered and red-faced. ‘Fuck'. And after doing a quick scan of the room Sebastian seemed to have spotted him, and swiftly made his way over.

“I got a visit from the police saying that somebody had nicked my phone. They said I might find you here,” Sebastian explained simply, taking a seat next to Jim and turning awkwardly to try and face him. The chairs weren’t very big, and the taller man had to strain in order to try and twist his body around.

At first Jim ignored him, simply staring across at the television where two politicians were currently in the midst of a heated debate. Although his attention span didn’t last long, and soon enough he found his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Did you get your belongings back?”

The other man simply offered a half-hearted smile, before shaking his head.

“Not yet, the station is closed for tonight… I told them I’d go back tomorrow morning to collect them. Apparently the bloke crashed his bike when the police turned up, turns out he was already wanted for assault anyway.”

Jim grimaced, but gave a nod of understanding anyway.

“…Sorry for ruining your birthday like this. It’s my fault for leaving all of my shit at your apartment anyway,” Sebastian continued on apologetically, just as a consultant appeared and requested for a patient. The patient in-question followed the consultant into a side room, and the waiting area was left even quieter than before.

“Don’t be stupid, this is probably the best birthday i’ve ever had,” Jim assured him firmly, offering Sebastian a small pat on the back as reassurance. He tried to smile, but it only caused his lip to sting even more.

“It was probably for the best anyway. I hate modern art.”

Jim had been expecting at least a little chuckle or something from his counterpart upon finishing his sentence, but instead he was met by silence. With a frown, Jim looked over to see Sebastian sat awkwardly, a weak smile plastered across his lips. Jim to immediately groan in dismay.

“Oh fuck- don’t tell me you’re one of those crazed art fanatics, I don’t think I could cope with that,” the injured man practically begged, only for Sebastian to laugh in response and hastily shake his head.

“No, no not quite,” he promised reassuringly. Another patient was called, then another, until Jim and Sebastian were the only people left in the room - alongside the receptionist of course, but she was currently mid-phone call and seemed rather invested in whoever was on the other end of the line.

“I work in theatre. I mean I’m no Shakespeare or anything, I work backstage… lighting and stuff. ” he explained, just as one of the consultants emerged once more.

“Although I do quite enjoy a bit of modern art from time to time-“

_“James Moriarty?”_

A couple of ice packs and dozens of stitches later, Jim bid farewell to the consultant and made his way out of the now-empty department and into the hospital car park. He was pleased to see that Sebastian was waiting for him outside, a cigarette currently held between two of fingers as he took the occasional drag. He offered one to Jim, before the two of them set off again.

“You never told me your last name was Moriarty,” Sebastian mused aloud as they walked together.

“Well frankly you never asked,” Jim retorted with a scoff, pressing his own cigarette to his lips.

He exhaled; the smoke swirled upwards and intertwined with the cool air, leading to a rather mesmerising pattern of swirls and ripples, until finally the smoke evaporated and they were left with nothing . Sebastian seemed to finish his own cigarette before Jim, flicking it onto the pavement and swiftly crushing it with the heel of his shoe. The majority of their walk was accompanied by a comfortable silence, which neither man wanted to break until finally they were forced to upon reaching a fork in the road. Jim took the opportunity to dispose of his own cigarette as they both came to a halt, a few buses driving past as they made their final rounds for the night. The irishman accepted that he had probably already missed the last bus home, so he’d just have to walk.

“My last name’s Moran by the way,” Sebastian, who had gained enough courage to speak first, finally explained.

“…It’s Gaelic, I thought you might like it.”

Jim seemed bemused at first by the sudden revelation. His bemusement was met by a quiet scoff, one which was thankfully overshadowed by a passing bus.

“Actually I don’t,” he replied bluntly upon noting Sebastian’s look of surprise.

“That was your first mistake. You assumed that just because I’m Irish meant that I’d appreciate your terribly-Irish name…”

A pause.

“…But it suits you.”

Sebastian Moran seemed immediately relieved, and Jim spotted how a faint smile was trying to curl its way onto Moran’s lips. In that case Jim’s last comment had cheered him up, not that he was particularly complaining. If anything, Jim had grown a soft spot for Sebastian’s smile - it was a wide smile, one that scrunched up all of Sebastian’s facial features and caused him to bare his teeth, reminding Jim of a wild animal showing off its ferocity. Jim didn’t like his own smile, it was lopsided and he didn’t like his teeth.

“I haven’t lived in Ireland for a long time, you know,” he spoke up in determination, as if to make a point.

“Moved here when I was sixteen, I’ve been living here ever since.”

“How come?”

“It’s complicated.”

Sebastian didn’t ask any more questions, which perfectly suited the shorter of the two. This wasn’t some sort of police investigation, he didn’t fancy getting interrogated on his way home from A&E.

“I’m from Germany,” Sebastian added thoughtfully, causing Jim to frown in evident confusion. The other man seemed to spot his confusion, and he chuckled lowly.

“…I don’t have the accent I’m afraid, both my mother and father are English. Father was an admiral in the navy, we had to move around a lot. I was born in Munich but we travelled all over the place… When I was five we moved to Oxford for a bit, then to India when I was eleven, before going back to Oxford a couple of years later. I only moved here because of the job opening, I lied to father and said that I was going to become a politician.”

“Oh.”

Jim offered a saddened smile. India sounded nice - the irishman tried to picture the Taj Mahal glistening in the sunlight, every ounce of it built to perfection. He tried to imagine an eleven-year-old Sebastian stood outside of it, no doubt tanned from the blistering heat. He supposed that must mean that Sebastian spoke at least two other languages, and whilst the thought rather excited him he’d have to wait until a better time to ask him.

“I suppose this is goodbye,” Jim’s counterpart stated at last, his words prompted by a flurry of drunks that had begun to spill out from the pub across the road. Closing time no doubt. They stumbled clumsily onto the pavement, a few digging around in their pockets for a quick nicotine fix before they went home, whilst others looked practically half-asleep. Both men couldn’t help but admire the scene in fascination. Sebastian seemed to still be lost in his visions of Germany and India, and Jim watched him discreetly out of interest.

“I suppose it is,” Jim agreed finally once the last of the drunks had turned the corner, and their shouts and laughs were simply a distant murmur.

From somewhere far away, he could hear the dull chimes of Big Ben. Midnight.

“…I would offer to exchange numbers to keep in contact but, I have a feeling that would be a bit inappropriate considering the mess we’re in,” he commented again with a brief scoff, one which made his lip sting and caused him to stop abruptly.

“Just a bit,” Sebastian sighed in agreement, scratching the back of his head as he attempted to smile. But this time his smile was nothing more than a strained grimace. He was tired. They both were.

Jim raised a hand to wave, rather longing a warm bath and bed at this point, it had been a long day and he had suffered some nasty battle wounds. Though he was forcefully dragged away from his thoughts when Sebastian started to speak.

“…Before you go, I’ve got a job at the moment in the National Theatre. It’s only a small placement, look I’m not quite sure why I’m telling you this but… fuck- they’re holding auditions in a weeks time, it’s a production of Romeo and Juliet. One of those weird revised versions apparently,” the man exhaled breathlessly, taking a moment to try and compose himself once he had finished his sentence.

“…I suppose what I’m trying to say is, it would be great if you came by and auditioned. I'll be there and-“

But it was too late. Jim had already turned on his heel, and begun to walk off in the opposite direction.

“Sorry, I don’t do Shakespeare."

So Jim kept on walking, and this time Sebastian didn’t stop him. In Jim's eyes it should have been the last time they met.

"Auf wiedersehen, Sebastian."


	4. Exit Romeo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds, Jim arrives to audition for Romeo and Juliet. Sort of.

He wasn’t an actor, not by any means whatsoever.

When he was twelve, Jim had nabbed a small part in the school show. The show was Cyrano de Bergerac, admittedly an odd choice of production for a group of hormonal, angry teenage boys. Jim’s part hadn’t been that of a speaking role, in-fact he was only on stage for a few seconds, yet regardless as soon as the lights dimmed and he had stepped out from backstage, nerves had gotten the better of him and he had been sick all over his newest pair of nikes. As a result the play was forcibly postponed whilst the mess was cleaned up, and Jim spent the remainder of the week in bed at home with a poorly stomach. He hadn’t been cast in any more roles after that.

At first, Jim had completely resented the idea of going to audition for the play, and had spent the majority of the following week attempting to eliminate all ounces of the idea from his mind. The days dragged by slowly; Jim didn’t see Sebastian again, and strangely that disheartened him. The following few days were spent mostly with Jim residing in his own apartment, leaving every so often just so that he could buy himself more cigarettes from the corner shop before scurrying back to his hiding place once again.

Then on Wednesday night, Mister Madley had died.

According to the paramedics it had been a heart attack. The old bugger had been living with an undiagnosed heart condition for at least seven months prior, one which had subsequently finished him off just before Halloween. Unlike his other nosy neighbours, Jim hadn’t stuck around to watch the paramedics carry the body out, nor had he attended the small memorial that had been held a few days later at the pub across the road. Madley’s death had been the talk of the estate, though not exactly in a good way, the large majority of residents had decided good riddance to the dead bastard, whilst a few others planned to raid the man’s flat to try and flog some of his possessions on the internet.

On November first, Jim had awoken in annoyance to find that his bedroom was freezing cold, an annoyance that was made only worse when he discovered that his heating had been shut off - likely for not paying his bills. With great reluctance, the irishman finally dragged himself out of bed and undressed in order to go and take a shower - but to his dismay it appeared that he also had no water either. So, with a heavy heart and without any clothes on, Jim had traipsed the miserable journey back to his bedroom again so that he could put on some more clothes and figure out a plan of attack. Any other person would have simply paid their bills and continued with their ordinary lives, but with a limited income and hardly any money left in his wallet, that option was impossible. After dressing into something a little more comfortable, Jim headed into the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal, and sat happily devouring it at the table-side whilst he considered what to do next.

At first he thought about getting back into contact with his mother again. No. Undoubtably her phone number and contacts had changed since their last exchange, and there was no way in Hell that she’d be willing to transfer any money to her estranged son anyway. Going to the bank or reaching out to any family friends was also out of the question, so once the cereal bowl had been emptied and everything had been washed and left to dry, Jim decided to go on a walk in an attempt to try and clear his head.

After checking to make sure that he had his keys, mobile phone, and a pack of cigarettes for good measure, Jim made his way swiftly out of the house before closing the door behind him. On his way to the ground floor he passed Mister Madley’s old apartment; the front-door was boarded up now with cheap wood and had proved to be the target of vandalism over the past few days, with numerous rude words and pictures sprayed onto the door. Jim supposed the old man had had it coming after all, and upon heading out into the car park, Jim noticed that the old man’s prized motorbike was also gone. It had probably already been sold, either that or someone had taken the opportunity to steal it.

He would have walked for longer, however as he neared Southwark Jim realised that he had begun to strike up a slight stink. Since his youth, Jim had always been adamant when it came to personal hygiene, from brushing his teeth three times a day to always scrubbing behind his ears whenever he took a bath. He prided himself on being clean and germ-free to the point where it was almost obsessive, and the fact that he had missed out on his regular morning shower wasn’t sitting well with his conscience. After walking along the Thames for a few more minutes Jim finally came across the National Theatre, the same place that Sebastian had mentioned on their walk yesterday; it was larger than he had expected it to be, with a crowd of men and women gathered around the entrance carrying with them briefcases and cups of coffee. Jim supposed they were mostly actors, or aspiring actors at best, and Jim subconsciously found himself searching the crowd in an attempt to try and find Sebastian somewhere amongst them. But his search proved futile, Sebastian wasn’t there.

Jim lingered momentarily by the front entrance, waiting to see whether or not anybody was paying attention, and once he was satisfied he cautiously slipped past the crowd of actors and ventured inside. The inside was just as crowded as the outside, so Jim had no trouble in wriggling his way through the maze of strangers in order to try and locate somewhere where he could have a wash. He had stopped for a minute to read a set of directions on the wall, before he was rudely interrupted by the sound of two men participating in a hushed conversation. The men walked past Jim and through to where the dressing rooms and props were located, and Jim realised that the tuft of blond hair on one of the men’s heads belonged to none other than Sebastian.

Immediately Jim felt a rush of delight as he flanked after the two men, following them down a flight of stairs and into a large corridor filled with different doors and room numbers. From what he could gather, the two men were discussing something about props, with Sebastian giving the occasional laugh that Jim could tell was quite clearly forced. They continued to walk completely unaware of the irishman’s presence, before finally disappearing off into the storage room at the end of the hallway. Jim gave an immediate sigh of relief once the coast was clear, and took the opportunity to snoop around a little further. Each room displayed a different number as well as name on the door, and a few names Jim even recognised from the telly. One of the doors was already ever so slightly ajar, so without thinking Jim slipped inside, and hastily shut it behind him.

Judging by the smell of perfume and the fluffy pink shawl hanging up on the coat-rack, Jim realised that the room in question must have belonged to a woman. There were large piles of clothes and costumes practically filling the room, as well as many different photographs and ‘good luck’ cards which were currently plastered to the walls and mirror. Judging by the smell of the perfume it was expensive, so the actress in question evidently had a lot of money. Famous maybe? Jim would have liked to look around for a little longer, but he was pressed for time and he couldn’t risk being found out.

There was a door at the side of the room leading to a small bathroom complete with sink and shower, and in a moment of complete disgrace Jim stripped off his clothes, before bundling himself into the shower and turning on the hot tap. 

The water was warm and came as an immediate consolation. Jim used the shampoo and conditioner bottles on the shower rack in order to give his hair a good wash, leaving him smelling rather like coconut and honey. The hot water fogged up the glass across the shower door and Jim outstretched a hand so that he could draw a lopsided, little smiley face on the glass to cheer himself up. In that moment he liked to pretend that he was rich and famous, like he was Grace Kelly or Elizabeth Taylor getting ready to dine out at the Ritz later that night. His black eye still hadn’t completely healed and nor had his spilt lip but that didn’t matter, because in the moment he wasn’t Jim Moriarty anymore, he was something a million times better.

But it was the rapid knocking on the door that brought his fantasies to an abrupt end.

“Hello? Hello is anybody in there? We weren't expecting anybody until later tonight, you're rather early!"

Jim immediately shut off the taps and froze as an almighty sense of panic shot through his body. The water had stopped now but the knocking on the door was still going; truth be told the man was petrified - any second now anybody could burst through the door and find him naked, with his hair smelling strangely like coconuts. The voice sounded oddly familiar but he couldn’t quite pinpoint why, and after breaking free from his state stumbled out of the shower as quickly as his legs would allow. The smiley face that he had drawn earlier had already faded away.

“Can you hear me? Look, I don't want to startle you but I'm going to count to three and then we're coming in, understand?"

One…

Two…

Three.

Just as Jim was wrestling into his boxer shorts, the door to the bathroom opened to reveal none-other than Sebastian and the man he had been accompanying, stood stiffly with grave expressions on both of their faces. If anything, Jim felt rather betrayed that _Sebastian_ of all people had come to invade his privacy like that. With a stubborn sniff, Jim finished drying off his hair and grabbed for his coat, just about managing to catch the look of absolute disgust on the other man’s face.

“Well frankly this is ridiculous!” He exclaimed in a shrill voice, which Jim thought to be a tad overdramatic - he was acting as though the irishman had just murdered the entirety of the Royal Family or something. Then again Jim supposed it was a theatre, people tended to be good at that sort of stuff.

“…This dressing room is reserved for our finest actresses only, not for, well…maniacs such as yourself. I’m going to have to inform security, this is simply preposterous-“

Jim could sense Sebastian staring at him, even though his gaze was directed the floor. The initial feelings of panic had faded now, the betrayal was still there though now it was accompanied by what Jim could only describe as humiliation. He finished lacing up his shoes in a half-hearted attempt, although when he looked up again he was greeted by the strangest sight. Sebastian was smiling, and by the looks of it it wasn’t maliciously either. But that only made Jim angrier. Sebastian Moran was pitying him.

“Actually, sir, I don’t think it’s worth calling security. There’s clearly just been some sort of mix up” the blond assured his accomplice calmly, chuckling slightly before waving a hand over towards where Jim was now standing.

“This is one of our newcomers, he’s come to audition today… It’s my fault really, we spoke earlier and he asked if we had any showering facilities. And well, I accidentally directed him here - I suppose I still haven’t found by bearings.”

The man Sebastian was stood beside didn’t seem entirely convinced, although he was clearly exhausted and probably grateful that security weren’t needed after all. He was dressed in a sleek black suit with a business phone in his pocket, Jim assumed that must mean he was important - no doubt of a higher authority.

“Very well, Moran,” the man sighed, running his hands through his greying hair as his eyes settled upon Jim again. His gaze narrowed, and he pursed his lips.

“…The first auditions will be starting in five minutes. Don’t be late.”

The man was rather eager to hurry back upstairs again, and much to Jim’s frustration he and Sebastian soon found themselves left alone again. Sebastian’s smile had widened now to the extent that he looked almost giddy, and today Jim noted that he was dressed in the same hoodie that he had worn on the day of the mugging. Moran seemed to sigh, rubbing his eyes in disbelief before quickly shaking his head.

“I cannot fucking believe you, Jim Moriarty,” he sighed truthfully, managing a shaky sort of laugh just as a warning call sounded from upstairs, instructing all actors to come to the stage immediately. But Jim wasn’t laughing; he felt sick to his stomach.

“They turned my water and heating off and I needed a shower… It’s my basic human right isn’t it?” the man snapped in response, a little more bitterly than he had first intended. The tone had evidently caught Sebastian off guard, causing him to take a step back as that stupid smile vanished instantly from his lips. Jim felt an unexplainable wave of satisfaction at the man’s reaction, though not enough to stop him from snarling again. Jim’s lip still hadn’t quite healed from the incident, and his anger wasn’t making matters any better.

“Was that your plan all along? Just to get me to audition for your stupid play?”

“Jim-“

“-Who was that man? The man that you were with just a minute ago? The posh one using stupid words like 'preposterous'.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw uncomfortably.

“That was my boss. And no, that wasn’t why I invited you here.”

Jim’s lip quivered, and if he wasn’t careful then he’d end up breaking all of the stitches and having to go back to hospital again. If anything he would have been happy to punch Sebastian right there and then for having embarrassed him like that - although upon thinking about it maybe that would have been a tad too harsh. It was his fault for getting them both into this mess, it always was.

“Why did you invite me then?” He demanded sulkily.

“Because I thought we could talk some more. I didn't want to say goodbye so soon.”

Jim frowned warily.

Sebastian grimaced. Judging by the noise coming from the auditorium upstairs, auditions were likely underway. And despite his anger, Jim was still very glad that he was down here with the blond rather than up there performing. After all it wasn’t like he had ever even read Romeo and Juliet. The words were too long and complicated and even the story didn’t make sense - he didn’t understand why anybody would be so determined to die for one-another.

“My folks finally cut me off a few days ago, it's been shit ever since - even though I should have expected it really,” Moran continued after spotting Jim’s puzzlement, biting his tongue to try and keep control of his emotions. His foot had started to tap against the ground now, a nervous habit that he had never quite been able to escape from, and after some reluctance Jim reached forward to give his hand a tentative squeeze. Sebastian’s skin was warm and equally just as rough - Jim much preferred it to his own silky skin.

“I stopped speaking to my mam years ago, I wouldn’t worry about it. I think it’s way better being alone,” Jim explained finally, a slight smile finally pricking at the corners of his lips.

“What about your dad?”

“He died when I was sixteen - brain tumour. He was an alright bloke I suppose, a little weedy but he was nice enough. I preferred him to my Ma anyway.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Sebastian grunted apologetically, shaking his head for being so careless. The motion caused his hair to fall out of place and covered his eyes - Jim smiled when he knew Sebastian wasn’t looking.

“What was his name?”

“James Moriarty.”

Sebastian’s eyes instantly widened in bewilderment, and he opened his mouth to reply before Jim cut him off with a disapproving glare.

“It’s a long story.”

The blond merely grinned.

“I love long stories.”

They must have lost track of time, as when they emerged from the dressing room the foyer was swarming with people on their way out. Some were particular ecstatic and were chatting away to whoever would listen, whilst others had their heads hung low out of disappointment and Jim overheard Sebastian comment about ‘how sorry he felt for them.’ Jim even spotted the Sebastian’s boss in the suit from earlier, although he was currently in a heated argument with one of the directors so thankfully he was preoccupied.

Jim had finally opened up to Sebastian about his money troubles, only after the two had shared a packet of cigarettes of course, and Sebastian had willingly agreed to let Jim sleep in the spare room of his own house until things were sorted. At first Jim had objected, however Moran seemed adamant that he wanted to help, and he pointed out that it was better than Jim catching his death from the cold.

“So why did they cut you off?” Jim questioned out of curiosity, only to realise that the question may have been in bad taste.

But Sebastian was too busy attempting to try and light his final cigarette, and the irishman was rather glad that he hadn’t fully comprehended the question.

“….They said I was giving a bad reputation to the family name. I should have seen it coming really, they always favoured my brother over me.”

After dumping the now-empty packet of cigarettes in a neighbouring bin, Jim worked his way back through the crowd again as he went to rejoin Sebastian. After their earlier dispute, the irishman felt admittedly a lot calmer now, as well as having developed a slight fondness of his counterpart. It wasn’t romantic, it simply made a nice change to have decent company for once. Sebastian had laughed at the story of Jim’s fathers funeral, and the two of them had spoken endlessly about siblings and family - with both deciding that families were far too overrated for anyone’s good. It turned out that Sebastian’s brother had died after an accidental bomb detonation back in ’85. Apparently he had been serving as a soldier ever since Sebastian was a small child, so hadn’t even known him that well anyway. But Sebastian didn’t seem to be upset by it, so neither was Jim.

“I wasn’t close to my sister either, you know,” Jim piped up suddenly as if to try and comfort the other man a little. And it must have been working since Sebastian smiled in return.

“Oh? I bet she’s a millionaire or something, with a rich husband and a nice house and kids?” Moran teased playfully, only to earn an irritated swat against his arm from Jim.

“No, she’s only six.”

Sebastian did that strange laughing again, the same barking laugh from the night they had met which Jim had grown to rather like. He himself had chuckled in amusement, though that didn’t stop him from feeling the tiniest bit resentful. He wondered if his sister had long black hair the same as his mother’s, or if she had a big nose just like his father had. Out of spite, he secretly hoped for the second option. They carried on walking towards one of the roads, where Sebastian attempted to flag down a taxi with not much success. It was no surprise that the whole place was congested, and after four more determined attempts he finally managed to gain the attention of one of the cabbies who drove over to join them.

“Jim? I forgot to ask earlier but…”

The irishman had made himself comfortable in the back of the cab, and was halfway through adjusting his seatbelt when the question came. He stopped uncertainly, and despite his initial panic he just prayed that the question wouldn’t be too bad-

“…Why does your hair smell like coconut?”


	5. The Spare Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim moves in temporarily to live with Sebastian, though Sebastian isn't convinced by the bad habits of his new housemate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - mentions of drug-use.

Sebastian lived in Kensington, in a small townhouse that Jim could only assume was gifted to him by his parents a few years prior. The whole street was filled with identical-looking white houses, with perfectly trimmed hedges and paint that wasn’t at all stained or graffitied. Jim would have been a liar if he said that he hadn’t been extremely jealous upon his arrival at the street, though Sebastian had quickly picked up on it and tried to reassure the man as best as possible.

The interior of the house itself was nice enough, most rooms were filled with various different film posters and theatre memorabilia that Jim should have expected, however he was delighted to discover that Sebastian also owned a small dog. He was a terrier called Kirk, Sebastian had unsurprisingly named him after the actor Kirk Douglas, a yappy little thing with wiry brown fur and with a tendency to sneeze a lot. Jim had thought he was rather sweet at first, until darling Kirk had snuck into his new room during the first night and Jim had awoken the following morning to a piss-stained mattress. After that they had swiftly become arch-enemies. 

For now, Jim resided in the spare room. It was only a small space, with yellow walls and a window that overlooked the garden. According to Sebastian the walls were only yellow because the previous homeowners had used the room as a nursery for their new baby, and Jim was reminded of the nursery that his own little sister had used to own when she was a baby.

In-fact since Sebastian still had to go to work, Jim found that most of his days were spent the spare room. It wasn’t as though he was locked in there; Just like Kirk, Jim had access to the entirety of the house, though whilst Kirk spent most days mindlessly chasing the pigeons and the neighbour's cat out in the garden, Jim instead boarding himself up in the spare bedroom smoking until he couldn’t remember his own name anymore. He was bored, so bored that he felt like screaming until everybody in the whole universe could hear him. It wasn’t to say that Jim didn’t thoroughly enjoy Sebastian’s company, because he did, but the days spent all alone with nothing but a naughty mongrel were driving him stir-crazy and the irishman didn’t think that he could do it anymore. It wasn’t as though Sebastians dog could speak to him, and even if he could speak Jim highly doubted that he’d say anything intellectual. And whenever Sebastian came home from his shift he was always tired and desperate to complain about how terribly the play was going, so Jim begrudgingly allowed for him to vent before offering to clean up dinner afterwards. Sebastian had offered to take Jim job-hunting a few times, though each time Jim had quickly declined the offer and promised Sebastian that he was ‘already searching for something’. Maybe he had a lying problem.

When Sebastian returned home on Friday evening, Jim was sprawled out on the floor at the top of the staircase, his pupils dilated to the size of buttons with a lopsided smile dragged across his lips. Sebastian hadn’t noticed at first, but Kirk had started to whine and whimper at the bottom of the stairs, so it would only be a matter of time.

This time it had been the blue pill. Jim had gotten it from a man in Covent Garden who had been willing to exchange a packet for a nice sum of money. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the man dealing it to him had promised that the blue pill would help him feel enlightened, like he was in his own other world completely and everything would be just so… happy. Jim’s body felt not just warm but hot, and he was suddenly very aware of his own heart beating furiously in his chest and the blood pulsing through his veins.

Sebastian had gone to put the kettle on and fill up Kirk’s food bowl, leaving Jim alone for a few minutes. When the blond eventually returned Jim had developed a tingling sensation across each of his limbs, and the dozy smile had merely widened the more that it tickled. Jim watched absent-mindedly as Sebastian tiptoed up the first few steps before finally coming to a stop just in-front of where Jim was laying.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy all week,” Sebastian commented with a small grin, observing Jim with a playful suspicion before the kettle boiled and the little terrier began to bark again.

Jim didn’t respond, he only smiled. And Sebastian lingered momentarily before finally smiling in response, and going back downstairs to make them both a cup of tea.

"Come down and get some tea, Jim, you'll only get dirty if you lay down there."

The following week Jim was back at Covent Garden again to get his usual supply. They were the same blue pills that he had been getting for the past week now, although Joe, the man that was selling them, seemed unconvinced. Jim wasn’t actually sure if ‘Joe’ was his real name or not, but even if it was he still thought it still sounded stupid.

“You know you ought to try the red ones sometime, I think you’d like them.”

It was raining, so both Jim and Joe were sheltered underneath the marketplace roof whilst they exchanged their goods. Joe must have been a little older than the irishman judging by his appearance, although he mainly kept himself hidden under a beanie-hat and a large puffer jacket. Jim admittedly found him to be rather sketchy, he had found the man through mutual connections and had contacted him soon after without Sebastian’s knowledge. They had agreed to meet regularly so that Jim could collect whatever he needed to get, and Jim had made sure that their little ‘meetings’ were arranged for when Sebastian was still working so that the blond would be oblivious to the whole thing.

“If you’re trying to rip me off with something else then I don’t want them, I’m happy with the blues,” Jim interjected sternly, shoving a hand into his coat pocket as he attempted to fish out some cash to pay with.

“Suit yourself,” Joe shrugged off, smiling as Jim retrieved the money and he immediately snatched it away before stuffing it into his own pocket. He pulled out the packet of pills just like he had promised, however just as Jim reached out to take them he suddenly retracted his hand again.

“…The blues are good enough at doing what they’re s’posed to do, but the reds give you far more of a kick. They make you feel much calmer, just for a higher price. But since I like you so much how about we make a deal? I’ll knock a few quid off of the price specially for you.”

Joe slowly handed the packet of pills back to Jim again, to which the irishman instantly accepted and hid away in his coat before anybody could spot them. But thankfully the place was virtually empty due to the bad weather - it meant that they could have a conversation without being rudely interrupted.

“Like I said, I’m sticking with these ones,” Jim reminded the older man with narrowed eyes, his hand gently coming to pat the pocket in which the pills were hidden inside.

“Alright but my offer still stands. If you decide you want them then you know where to find me.”

Jim ignored this last part, hastily setting off again as he traipsed back through the rain and out of the marketplace. Upon returning back to Sebastian’s house Jim was soaking wet from the rain, and Kirk was already waiting eagerly by the front-door for him. Jim didn’t acknowledge the dog at first, he simply slipped off his coat and hung it up on the coat-rack, making sure to retrieve the packet of goods so that he didn’t forget them later. The door of the spare room was open again, almost as though it was daring Jim to go inside, so after a few minutes of self-restraint he finally crumbled and began to make his way upstairs. The excitable terrier tried to follow him, but upon reaching the door of the bedroom Jim suddenly held out his foot to block him.

“Not now. Go bother Sebastian when he gets home.”

Despite the dog’s persistent whines, Jim still shut the door on him and took a seat on the bed. The familiar feeling of boredom had begun to crawl up the back of Jim’s neck again towards his head - he needed to hurry before it grew any worse. He opened up the packet, before glancing at the clock on the bedside table to check the time.

6:28pm. That gave him a good half-an-hour or so before Sebastian arrived home.

When Sebastian arrived home that night, he was greeted at once by Kirk who had come rushing out from the kitchen. He grinned, dropping his work-things by the side of the door as he crouched down to pet the dog. Kirk seemed more than happy by the attention that he was receiving, and a few belly-rubs later the terrier plodded off again, leaving Sebastian by himself in the hallway. He kicked off his shoes, stifling a short yawn as he traipsed upstairs to go and greet Jim.

To nobody’s surprise, the door to the spare bedroom was closed, and after trying the handle a few times Sebastian realised that it was locked. After the incident at the top of the stairs a few nights ago, Jim seemed to be spending more time in the spare room than usual. Sebastian would have been lying if he said it didn’t concern him; Jim mostly came downstairs for dinner and if he needed a smoke, but his behaviour was still worrying nevertheless.

Sebastian exhaled, before knocking tentatively on the door. Perhaps he could try and persuade the Irishman to open up somehow.

“Jim? I figured since it's Friday maybe I could go pick us up something from the chippy.”

No response.

“Jim… Please open the door.”

Sebastian was ready to turn and head back downstairs again, until footsteps sounded from inside the little room and then came the unmistakable click of the lock. Jim looked a state; his face was sticky and drenched with sweat, and Sebastian could’ve sworn that the irishman was also shaking - either that or the feeling of anger that he was currently experiencing was playing tricks on his mind. Jim was still hiding halfway behind the door, but he was still visible enough that Sebastian could see one of his pupils which was clearly dilated.Sebastian figured that the dilation wasn’t because Jim wasn’t merely pleased to see him, so he stepped back to give him some space. But Jim refused to move.

“How long?” Moran asked simply. His tone was blunt, he hadn’t meant for it to be, but right now he couldn’t manage anything else. His throat felt dry and his lips were parched - Sebastian feared that if he spoke again then he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself.

“…Ever since I moved into the spare room.”

Jim didn’t seem too emotional as he spoke, which only angered Sebastian further.

His gaze shifted towards the bed behind Jim - there lay the remains of what he could only describe as Jim’s secret high. He wasn’t sure what made him more upset - the fact that Jim had been using in his house or that he hadn’t told the blond. Sebastian had a horrible feeling that it was the latter.

“You told me you were getting a job, you made me believe that you were actually trying-“

“-I am trying.”

“Trying to what? Kill yourself?”

Sebastian had been too caught up in his own anger that he hadn’t noticed the sudden silence from Jim’s part. The shorter of the two sniffed, finally revealing himself from behind the door as he traipsed shamefully out into the hallway. He seemed smaller now than ever before, and as his annoyance slowly faded Sebastian was suddenly overcome with the urge to wrap the small man up in his chest and protect him from the big bad world around them. It didn’t seem fair - it didn’t seem fair at all that they had been left in this shitty situation.

But he didn’t hug him. Not yet anyway.

“I suppose you could say that,” Jim mumbled, blissfully unaware of the thoughts currently racing through the blond’s mind.

If anything, Jim assumed that Sebastian was absolutely furious with him over the revelation, and he wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Sebastian ordered for him to pack his bags and leave as soon as possible. But in an unexpected twist, Sebastian had suddenly stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist, gently holding to him as though he was some precious ornament made of glass. At first the dark-haired man was stunned and didn’t quite know how to react, however he felt bad for not returning the hug so slowly he wrapped one arm around Sebastian in return.

The embrace was awkward to say the least, but comforting nevertheless. Both parts seemed rather relieved once it was over, and Sebastian quickly cleared his throat. Jim wasn’t good at deducing other people’s feelings, so he wasn’t sure if the hug meant anything or not, but it had been a long time since anybody had held him so he supposed it felt nice.

“I’ll run you a bath, baths always make things better,” Moran whispered eventually, offering Jim a final weak smile before he disappeared off into the bathroom to turn on the bath taps. He carefully adjusted them so that the water wouldn’t be too hot or too cold, and whilst waiting for the tub to fill up he went to rejoin with Jim again. The irishman had a feeling that Sebastian wasn't very good when it came to comforting people. 

“Are you still angry at me?” Jim, who had taken a seat at the top of the staircase, asked.

Sebastian sighed, closing the door to the spare bedroom before he slowly came to sit beside the dark-haired man.

“Positively furious,” he muttered in agreement.

Neither man smiled, especially not Sebastian who still seemed to be working on calming himself down. Jim on the other hand couldn’t stop thinking about the hug. It wasn’t often that he had been hugged during his lifetime; his grandmother had supposedly been an extremely loving woman, but she had died when Jim was only a few months old so he didn’t have any memories of her. His father hadn’t been very affectionate, no matter how much he tried to portray himself as a joker or as a family man, and somehow his mother had been even worse.

When he was younger, there had been a statue of Jesus on the mantelpiece in the living room. It wasn’t exactly odd, back in Dublin everybody had had them; the majority of them had been avid catholics, and suspicious ones too. Sometimes his mother would speak to the statue, especially if Jim had gotten into trouble at school or if the neighbours had complained. Jim could recount the many times that she has prayed to Jesus to make her son better or to ‘cure’ him.

_‘Oh Lord please forgive him, he’s just a little boy he doesn’t know what he’s doing.’_

But one afternoon Jim had arrived home to discover that the statue of Jesus had disappeared - similarly it was the same afternoon that he had been sent home early from school after crushing another boy’s finger in the door for laughing at him. His mother had stopped praying after that.

The drain gurgled, signifying that the bath was already ready. Jim snapped back to his senses again to discover that Sebastian had already left - no doubt to lecture Kirk about barking at the pigeons in the garden again. It felt colder without the blond by his side, however the bathwater was threatening to overflow so with great reluctance Jim finally got to his feet to turn off the taps.

He began to strip off his clothing until he was completely bare, before carefully lowering himself into the tub to allow the water to engulf him. There was a fuzzy feeling in his head now which wouldn’t go away, accompanied by a wave of irritability that Jim had no control over. But he wasn’t frustrated with Sebastian, he was far more frustrated with his own self. The pain in his head was getting worse, so with a small grunt Jim sunk further down into the bath so that the water was virtually touching his eyes and nose. A slight spray of water suddenly shot up his nose, causing the man to sit up and slouch back against the cold metal of the tub.

He had a feeling that Sebastian was still angry with him, even though he wouldn’t admit it aloud. Then again who wouldn’t be? Perhaps he could make it up to him - maybe with some flowers or with breakfast in bed. Jim hoped that it wouldn’t seem too romantic, he had gotten the idea from old films that he used to watch during Christmas. Just as he sat up he caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink; the circles around his eyes had grown darker and baggier now, contrasting against his already-pale face, and his bones had started to stick out around his ribs and collar making for a rather unflattering sight. But Jim didn’t think that he had changed too much from his boyhood - his hair was still as dark and unkempt as ever, and his eyes were similarly black, withholding a flicker of what some would describe as malice. He was still the same as his teenage self had once been - in regards to the fact that he was still tired and oh so very fed up.

But the water was cold, so Jim gave up and dragged himself out of the tub.


	6. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian is called away on an urgent business trip, whilst Jim catches up with an old acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - heavy mentions of drug-use and adverse drug reaction.

In early December, Sebastian had been called away out of the blue for urgent business. When Jim had asked about it over breakfast, the blond had said something about ‘technical difficulties’ regarding the play, meaning that he would be spending the next five nights or so up in Manchester until the problem was resolved. Before his departure, Moran had left clear instructions for Jim on the kitchen table which included feeding Kirk and taking him out for regular walks, as well as watering the plants in the garden to that they didn’t shrivel up and die. Jim was less excited about the prospect of having to take Sebastian’s dog out on walks, but he was well-aware that he had nothing better to do. And so was Sebastian.

With the help of Sebastian, Jim hadn’t used in well over a month now - the only downside of that being he hadn’t been able to find a job yet. Sebastian had told him not to worry about it, that once Jim was feeling better and fully recovered then he would help him search for work, however that didn’t stop Jim from feeling bad about the whole ordeal. In the meantime he had tried to help out around the house as much as possible, when the blond was at work then Jim would set about doing the ironing and the cleaning, and on the odd occasion he would go food shopping at the big supermarket down the road. Sebastian had joked a few times that Jim was his ‘perfect little housewife’, but he had stopped joking after Jim had threatened to shut his head in the oven if he didn’t shut up.

In-fact the the blue pills hadn’t bothered Jim in the slightest. And even when the odd though _did_ cross Jim’s mind, it was gone within a matter of seconds.

Jim had said goodbye to Sebastian on the morning of his departure, lounged against the doorway with a cigarette-in-hand whilst a cab came to collect his new housemate. The train from King's Cross left to Manchester in just under an hour which meant that they were in a rush, a matter which wasn't at all helped when Kirk had tried to accompany his owner into the cab, only for Jim to have to come and wrestle him away. Sebastian shot a passing grin towards Jim out of the window as he set off, and with the little terrier by his side Jim pulled away from the gate and went back inside again.

The first day had passed rather uneventfully; Jim had sorted out everything just like Sebastian had instructed him to, apart from watering the plants which he hadn't been bothered to even try. He wasn't sure how flowers worked, but then again he wasn't a bloody gardener so if they were to die then he would refuse to take the blame. By the evening Jim had settled down in-front of the television ready to watch a tv show when a scratching sound came from the hallway. He knew that it was Kirk, because the scratches didn’t sound too deep, and it was around 7pm when Sebastian usually took him out for his nightly walks. At first Jim had hoped that the scratching would go away by itself and the dog would become bored - he had even increased the volume of the television in order to try and drown out the noise - however over time it had gradually began to grow louder and more persistent.

Once he couldn’t tolerate it anymore, Jim switched off the chat-show he had been watching, and stormed out into the hallway to find the cursed mutt sat poised by the door. The irishman was well-aware of the lead on the shelf beside him, and after an intense stare-off with the dog he finally gave in and snatched the lead from the shelf, crouching down so that he could clip it to Kirk’s collar.

“Just this once. But I’m not going any further than a few miles,” Jim warned the dog stubbornly as he finished adjusting his leash before he got to his feet again and opened the front door.

Since Winter was nearing, the sky was already pitch-black. As they walked Jim made sure to keep a firm grip on the leash to prevent Kirk from escaping and getting lost in the midst of the city. He personally wouldn’t have minded if the dog got lost, but he knew that Sebastian would be utterly devastated so he tried to bear that in mind. They walked for longer than Jim had initially anticipated, he had hoped that the terrier would eventually get tired and they’d be able to go home, however that didn’t seem to be the case.

The streets were filled with multicoloured lights andneon signs as the pair neared Covent Garden, and Jim was forced to stop at the side of the road whilst Kirk became distracted by a stray cat sat on top of the wall. There was a small huddle of men stood on the opposite side of the road observing them, and as the dog barked Jim had to tug on his leash to try and get him to stop. But the stray cat seemed to be enjoying the antagonisation, and wouldn’t stopped hissing in order to rile the little dog up even more.

“For the love of God... Bastard… Cut it out-“

_“-Jim Moriarty! Long time no see.”_

The group of men that had previously been huddled against the wall had dispersed, and one man sauntered over to greet him. And with a pang of dismay, Jim realised it was Joe, and to make matters worse he was clearly off his head on some sort of substance.

“Where’d you go? You were my most valued customer,” the intoxicated man chuckled, reaching forward to give Jim a punch on the arm. It was supposed to be a light one, but Joe had underestimated his force and Jim ended up recoiling in pain.

“I’m guessing you came to ask about the red pills?”

“Actually I-“

“-Well you’re in luck, I’ve just got a new batch in fresh. And like I said before, I’ll even knock off some of the price for you.”

Jim hadn’t even realised that the dog had stopped barking, he was so stunned by Joe’s reaction that he hadn’t had time to formulate a proper sentence. But the words were tempting, and a slight flicker of doubt had begun to nibble at Jim’s mind. He had made a promise with Sebastian that under no circumstance was he to use again, however Sebastian would be gone for at least another few nights if not more, and vocal promises didn’t technically mean anything.

Jim could see Joe beginning to fidget in anticipation, so finally he stuffed his free hand into his pocket and searched for any loose change he might have.

“How much do I owe you?”

The intoxicated man instantly clapped in pleasure, before going silent again as he waltzed a few steps towards Jim until his breath was practically against the other man’s face.

“Usually a pill will cost you twenty. But since you and I are pals I’m willing to do it for twelve.”

“Fine.” 

Jim didn’t feel entirely satisfied once the exchange was done and he was on his way home again. It had been a mistake straying this far from home, and he was almost scared that Sebastian would be standing at the door waiting for him to arrive so that he could scold him for his stupidity. All this time he had been so adamant against buying what Joe had to offer, but tonight he had let his guard down and his foolishness had once again gotten the better of him. It seemed to be a steady pattern at this point.

Kirk was tired and had started to shiver, so reluctantly Jim crouched down and lifted him up into his arms so that he could carry him for the remainder of the journey. So much for being enemies. The dog nestled against the gap in his coat, and the irishman had to admit that it was a rather comforting feeling. He held the dog a little closer against his chest just so that he would be shielded from the cold, and by the time the two of them arrived home Jim’s fingers had tensed up and were virtually frozen.

He placed the dog back down upon the ground so that he could fumble around in his pocket for the spare set of keys that Sebastian had leant him, although it was proving to be virtually impossible considering he had lost all feeling in his hands. When eventually he managed to unlock the door, Kirk plodded inside first so that he could head straight to his bed, and Jim followed warily inside after him. The lights were still on upstairs since Jim had forgotten to switch them off, including the light coming from the spare room which flooded out into the hallway. The packet containing the pill was still sat impatiently inside of his pocket, and the irishman was now fully-aware of it as it rustled and crinkled every time that he attempted to move. He removed the bag from his pocket before slipping off his coat and hanging it up on the rack, heading upstairs to where the spare room was already awaiting his arrival.

It seemed smaller than before, more claustrophobic, but Jim thought that it must be all of his worries ganging up on him. He flopped down onto the bed and marvelled at the feeling of the warm pillow against the back of his head, before slowly he took out the red pill and held it carefully between his finger and thumb so that he could examine it.

It looked exactly like the others that he had consumed previously, the only difference this time being that it was red in colour. Red wasn’t necessarily a bad colour; pretty flowers such as poppies and roses were red, and the first bike that Jim ever owned had been a red chopper, his ultimate pride and joy as he paraded the streets of Dublin on it. But for some reason the pill made him feel uneasy. He hoped it was merely because he was tired and he wasn’t thinking straight.

After placing the tablet on the top of his tongue, Jim allowed for it to dissolve for a few seconds before eventually swallowing it. The house was silent so he presumed that meant the dog was asleep, and with a tired grunt of satisfaction he dragged himself up to his feet so that he could head to the bathroom and prepare himself for the night ahead.

Jim was stood in-front of the mirror when he first realised that something wasn’t quite right. He had washed his face and gotten himself ready without any hassle, though just as he was shaving the last remains of stubble from his jaw he noticed himself growing increasing hot and flustered. He figured that must have meant that the pill was working, which was odd considering it had taken far longer to work than it usually did. Jim dropped the razor down onto the sink edge with a gentle clatter and snatched a towel from the side so that he could mop up the remainder of the foam from his face. He still felt hot, even more so now, so as a precaution Jim took off his shirt and trousers - leaving him only in his underwear so that he could hopefully cool down a little.

Initially he had planned on going back to the spare room for the rest of the night to unwind, but a sudden wave of sickness forced him to scrap the plan and instead plant himself down onto the closed lid of the toilet.

Jim was sat there for as long as he could remember, although his mind had gone a little hazy so he wasn’t exactly the most reliable. The feeling of nausea only increased as the minutes ticked on which admittedly frightened the man a little - being sick hadn’t been part of the promised benefits. The thought of calling for an ambulance had briefly crossed his mind, though that was a frankly rubbish idea and he scolded himself for even considering it in the first place. He thought about calling Sebastian too, but he didn't think that he would be able to bare to suffer through the other man's moaning and shouting if he did.

An hour passed. Jim remained rooted to the toilet seat with one hand massaging his stomach, the other dabbing his face with a cold flannel in a feeble attempt to cool himself down. He had taken Sebastian’s dressing-gown from the metal hook on the back of the door and had decided that borrowing it would help retain at least some of his dignity in case someone was to walk in on him like this. The gown was soft and tickled his bare skin, however he barely had time to enjoy it before the pain became finally unbearable and he was forced to hunch over into a tight ball. His skin felt as though it was burning, like he had been set alight with a torch or match.

Jim couldn’t feel much at all aside from the burning sensation, so he only realised that he had fallen onto the floor when Kirk came rushing upstairs and into the bathroom to see what all of the commotion was about. Normally he would have happily plodded straight up to Jim and licked his face endlessly, but tonight he remained firmly positioned by the doorframe, too scared to move even an inch forward. The irishman tried to gesture for Kirk to come over and help, but the little dog was trembling now and he simply ran off again before Jim had the chance to form a sentence. The love that Jim had felt for the hairy mutt earlier that evening had completely gone.

He managed to grab hold of his phone, which was balanced on top of the side of the sink, dialling the emergency number before leaving the phone to rest on the floor beside him. He could hear the quiet crackle of the responder’s voice on the end of the phone asking whether or not he needed assistance, but by this point Jim was completely out of touch with his surroundings so he allowed the questioning to continue with no reply. The responder on the phone mentioned something about sending over a crew just to check up on the house, most likely because they could hear Jim’s raspy breathing in the background, but he didn’t remember much after that. The pain took over, and his vision became blurred and heavy.

He closed his eyes, and exhaled. If he was to die right now on the floor of a dingy bathroom then it wouldn't be the dramatic send-off that he hoped for. If he had been more awake then he would have attempted to pray, but only once, just once to see if the old man in the sky was really fake or fiction. But what would he pray about? Begging for forgiveness was too cliche, and what good would forgiveness do anyway? If God was really real then he wasn't going to be happy.


	7. Bill, Bonnie, and Clyde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waking up in hospital, Jim is caught up in a web of lies that set to land both him and Sebastian in serious danger. Meanwhile, feelings in the relationship appear to be changing.

“Oh… He’s waking up I think. Here he comes.”

Jim’s eyes had been shut, however when he opened them he had been greeted at once by a bright light which made his head sting and caused him to grunt softy. He recoiled instantly, suddenly becoming vaguely-aware that there was something heavy on top of him - something which he soon discovered to be a bedsheet. It was white.

In-fact everything in the room was white, from the bedsheets to the ceiling and four walls enclosing him. At first Jim worried that he was actually dead and had ended up in heaven, but his chances of dying and being accepted into heaven were virtually non-existent so he had been able to rule that one out fairly quickly. And he surely couldn’t be in the bathroom still, because it had been night-time before. There were voices from around the bedside implying that wherever he was he had visitors, and upon opening his eyes once more Jim spotted Sebastian sat by the side of the bed he was in, accompanied by what seemed to be a nurse who was busy fiddling around with the IV attached to his hand.

Jim went to sit up, but found himself unable to.

“Slow down. You’ll only hurt yourself more if you try to move.”

The words didn’t come from Sebastian, but from the nurse who had now finished adjusting the IV and was leant over trying to read Jim’s temperature. She was a short, plump woman, with greying hair and a creased brow that made it look as though she was scowling permanently. She was far too close for his liking and he wanted to shove her away, though his arms felt heavy alike the rest of his body. He let the nurse finish carrying out whatever she needed to do, and was more than relieved once she was done, and when the woman pulled away Jim could properly see Sebastian, who was sat calmly in one of the chairs beside the bed.

He looked as though he hadn’t slept, either that or he had only just arrived. Jim quickly guessed that it was the latter, since a large coat and Sebastian’s work-bag were sat on the chair beside him. That indicated that he must have come straight down from his work in Manchester. Jim was confused.

“We’ll need to keep him here for another night or so to monitor him, he is a _very_ lucky man to still be here. It’s a good thing somebody called 999,” the nurse explained, casting a stern gaze over to Jim as she spoke, like she was a teacher scolding a naughty schoolboy.

Sebastian didn’t seem to be paying much attention and he merely dismissed the explanation with a nod, uttering a tired ‘thank you’ as the nurse hurried out of the room and closed the door behind her. The two of them were alone.

It would have been silent if not for the steady beeps of the machines which were hooked up to different parts of Jim’s body, as well as a persistent ticking noise from the clock on the wall. The clock read almost 8 o’ clock, but Jim wasn’t sure whether that was morning or nighttime.

“How long have I been here?”

Sebastian sniffed, looking down towards his shoes so that they didn’t make eye contact. The Irishman’s words were slurred and sluggish, causing a sudden wave of panic to flood through him, and Sebastian must have noticed because he quickly moved forward to place a firm hand on Jim’s leg to stop him from jolting upright.

“Two days. I got a call from reception at the hotel I was staying at, they said that somebody had been found unresponsive at the house-“

The man stopped abruptly. He clenched his jaw as a means of controlling himself as he let go of Jim’s leg.

“-But you weren’t dead, just hooked up to a bunch of machines. My damn train got cancelled, I only arrived a few hours ago... You were still sleeping when I got here.”

A small frown creased Jim’s brow as Sebastian tried explaining to him what had happened. All Jim remembered was being in the bathroom one minute, then confined to a bed the next. He grunted uncomfortably and tried to roll over, but the bedsheets were restricting and made it hard to concentrate. Sebastian didn’t try and stop him this time and Jim continued to toss and turn; he only stopped when he caught sight of the drip towering beside his bedside with the bold label ‘morphine’ scrawled across it.

The gaunt expression on Sebastian’s face gave the impression that he wasn’t lying, and even Jim didn’t think that he was that much of a good actor for all of this to be a prank. Which meant that he must actually have been hospitalised, much to his dismay. He had never liked hospitals, the white corridors and bright lights always gave him a funny sort of feeling, a feeling like he was never quite alone, that somebody was always following him wherever he went.

“They’ve trapped me in here, I’m virtually a prisoner confined to my bed,” Jim sniffed scornfully, prizing his attention away from the morphine as instead he focused back on Moran again. They made eye contact - it was only fleeting, and they had both already looked away again before either had time to dwell on it. Sebastian looked almost like he waned to smile, although in actuality he might have been on the verge of tears (it was hard to tell).Jim realised at that point that he was dressed in a hospital gown, a horrible blue dress that didn’t fit quite right and itched around Jim’s neck.“

“Yes well when you overdose they tend to be rather strict.”

“You think I did this on purpose?”

“Didn’t you?”

Despite the previous warning from the nurse, Jim wriggled into a sitting poison and propped his back up against the pillow so that he could support himself. He was smiling now, but the smile was wary and didn’t at all reach his eyes which were bloodshot and confused. Once his cheekbones became sore and his jaw started to ache, he hastily dropped the smile and proceeded to move forward to try and get out of the bed, only to cry out in pain as Sebastian rushed forward to help him.

“Of course I didn’t, you fucking moron, and I didn't overdose either,” the man hissed in protest whilst Sebastian rushed around tucking Jim back into bed again and making sure that he was comfortable enough and that his head was supported. Once both of them had calmed down, the taller of the two shifted to go and sit back down on the chair he had been occupying before Jim abruptly reached out to stop him. Sebastian deliberated momentarily, before cautiously he took a seat beside Jim in the little space that was left on top of the bed without arguing.

Once Jim was satisfied, he rolled over to face the side of the bed where Sebastian was sitting, slowly extending one of his hands so that it was practically brushing against the other man’s exposed skin. It was a technique that he had learnt from his mother; years ago before his father died, his mother used to discreetly brush against his skin or try and seduce him whenever she wanted anything. And usually his father gave in and his mother would succeed in getting her own way. Jim wasn’t technically sure if their relationship could be classified as ‘love’, in all the times Jim had seen them together they had never looked like they were in love, his mother was a cunning woman whilst his father seemed desperate to cling onto any ounce of the relationship that was left. Yet still they had never filed for a divorce, something which Jim supposed had become irrelevant in the end.

But now it was Jim’s turn, and cautiously he took hold of Sebastian’s hand before carefully intertwining their fingers. If Sebastian was to shout at him or demand to know what he was doing then Jim would merely blame it on the morphine, but if anything Sebastian seemed pleasantly surprised by it. And Jim hated to admit it, but he was rather enjoying it too.

“…It was the man who dealt it to me. He was pushy, aggressive… I thought he was going to hurt me again if I refused,” the irishman began slowly, noticing how his counterpart’s ears pricked and he moved a little closer in curiosity.

“What do you mean, Jim?” Sebastian questioned.

He gave Jim’s hand a tentative squeeze as if to reassure him that it was alright, but it was a lie. All a little white lie crafted by the shorter man to clear his name.

Since it was in-fact a lie, Jim realised that he’d have to act the part too. He buried his head against the taller man’s chest so that Sebastian couldn’t see his face, and pretended to weep. Sebastian liked the theatre, surely he’d appreciate the little performance.

“…His name’s Joe. He lives just by Leicester Square. We used to meet at Covent Garden just to catch up and have a few drinks but… after a while he started introducing me to things. Different substances,” Jim continued between false sobs, feeling as the warm arms of the other man started to wrap around him comfortingly. He smiled discreetly to himself.

“Over time he got angrier, more erratic- he was clearly off his head on something I just didn’t know what.”

Jim paused with bated breath, before slowly raising his head to face Sebastian. Sebastian looked mortified.

“Then whilst you were up in Manchester he told me to meet him, the same spot where we usually met. He sounded aggressive, really aggressive, so I complied and- well he offered me this pill, one that I’d never tried before. He told me that I’d enjoy it. I tried to say no at first but he-“

He lingered, slowly raising one of his hands so that he could adjust the neck of his gown. His fingers wrapped around the fabric as carefully he pulled it down to reveal a blotchy yellow and black bruise across his shoulder. Jim hadn’t realised that it was there, he must have acquired it when falling onto the bathroom floor, but it was the perfect addition to his fake narrative.

“-He pushed me against the ground and made a few more threats, so I had no choice but to take it. I didn’t start feeling the effects until I got home, that’s when I called the paramedics an’ blacked out.”

Sebastian had let go of Jim so that he could examine the bruising a little better. Jim could see on his face that he looked noticeably upset, and his fist kept trembling as though he was about to snap. There was something alluring about when Sebastian got angry, and Jim rather enjoyed seeing it. He was like a magnificent, untamed beast - but right now he was in desperate need of a handler, and Jim decided that it would be his job to calm the beautiful creature.

“We have to alert the police. We need to call-“ Moran began frustratedly, before a finger to his lips immediately silenced him.

This time it was Jim who wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist, gently grounding him in an attempt to cease his rage. Sebastian seemed to relax ever so slightly, and soon melted in to his grip. Jim considered his efforts to be successful, so in a swift movement he pulled away and cupped Moran’s jaw with his hand, forcing them both to make eye contact.

“-No. I have a better idea.”

The idea was simple enough; They had to trap Joe, trap him like a wasp in a glass and make him pay for what he did. He was nothing but a foul crook who deserved to be squashed after all. It was Jim who devised the entirety of the plan, whilst Sebastian merely sat there on the bed looking like a stunned puppy. He nodded occasionally, though judging by the expression on his face he was clearly confused, so with an irritated huff Jim beckoned him in closer.

“We can’t just report him to the police, that will get us all into trouble, besides it might cost you your job,” the irishman explained in a solemn whisper. His voice prickled with malice, and for the first time Sebastian found himself feeling a little uneasy being in the company of Jim. Usually they just smoked together and made fun of the passers-by, but today Sebastian noticed how serious Jim looked, how determined he was to go ahead with it all.

“No, we have to get rid of his properly. Once and for all.”

“You want us to murder him?”

“Don’t be daft - we’re only doing him a favour. Those drugs will catch up with him soon enough anyway, I reckon he’s got a few months left at most.”

The shorter man was practically gleaming with pride at this statement, and whilst Sebastian was still unconvinced for the most-part, he couldn’t help but feel a little interested.

“How did you know that?” He questioned skeptically.

“I s’pose I’m just really smart.”

Jim laughed confidently, before leaning in to plant a firm kiss to the side of Sebastian’s cheek just as the nurse from earlier returned again, this time carrying a tray of food along with a glass of water.

“I see somebody’s in good spirits. I take it the morphine is working wonders,” she commented with an amused, but not cruel, smile. The nurse ventured further into the room and placed the tray down in-front of Jim, to which Jim thanked her whilst Sebastian was sat in silence - pale-faced as though he had seen a ghost. The nurse didn’t dwell for too long, and after checking Jim’s monitors and making sure that everything was in order she soon left again to ‘give the two of them some privacy.’

As soon as she left, Jim dumped his tray on the floor, deciding that he wasn’t hungry. Besides the bread accompanying his meal looked grey and soggy, it reminded him of the food that his mother had served after his father’s funeral. Unappealing and inedible. He wiped his hands of any crumbs before making himself comfortable under the covers again, just as Sebastian finally pulled himself out of his state of shock and blinked.

“You kissed me.”

Jim stifled a yawn, pretending that he hadn’t heard the question.

“What’s your knowledge of guns, Sebastian?” He instead asked, a deep frown of concentration settled onto his features as he stared across at the window where countless doctors and nurses were walking past. The clock was still ticking away persistently, if he wasn’t bed-bound then he would have gladly got up and smashed it to pieces.

“…You know, like the ones they use in the Hollywood films.”

“You kissed me.”

Jim snapped his head round, his brow creasing instantly in confusion as he shot the man a glare. He didn’t understand why Sebastian was still going on about it like it was the most important thing in the world. It had been one tiny kiss which had been interrupted by the nurse, and besides they had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Of course I kissed you, now focus. You like films, surely you should know something about the types of guns they use,” the irishman continued forcefully, and with great reluctance Sebastian finally gave in and shrugged tiredly.

“I dunno. I mean you’ve got the cowboys and the gangsters. Think of Buffalo Bill, Bonnie and Clyde,” he mused aloud casually.

Jim stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at Sebastian eagle-eyed.

“Bonnie and Clyde?”

“Yeah. They were this American couple back during the Great Depression… they’re practically infamous. Used to rob banks together and kill people, I did a project on them back when I was in school once. But I mean they both got shot in the end, it’s sort of like a morbid love story.”

Sebastian chuckled slightly at the thought of it, but Jim didn’t join in. He seemed almost stuck in a trance, as though he was lost in his own thoughts. And once the taller of the two had stopped laughing, Jim eagerly curled up beside his flank again, reaching forward as he begun to play around with the buttons on Sebastian’s shirt. He pondered for a moment, picking at a loose thread on one of the buttons.

“Can we be like Bonnie and Clyde?” Jim asked finally.

Sebastian offered a quizzical look in return, but Jim simply licked his lips.

“Without the dying, obviously,” he added hastily at the end.

Moran seemed hesitant at first, until it dawned on him just how serious Jim was about this. He really was serious about killing somebody, and whilst that utterly petrified him, Sebastian couldn’t help but feeling a little excitement too. All of his working life had been spent mopping up fake blood from stages after the performers had gone home, as well as handling prop pistols and rifles. The prospect of it suddenly being real made it all that much better.

“Fine. But once we get out of here we need a proper plan.”

Jim couldn’t contain his delight, and with a thrilled gasp he sat up and planted another kiss to Sebastian’s face - this time directly to his lips. They lingered momentarily.

“Leave it to me.”

That night, Jim suffered a nightmare. The morphine had started to wear off, leaving Jim’s body to ache as he turned and fidgeted uncomfortably in the bed. Sebastian was sleeping soundly on his own make-shift bed compiled of two chairs and a coat to keep him warm, blissfully unaware of what was happening around him. The nightmare was a vivid one; Jim had dreamt that he was back in Dublin again, at the cemetery where they had buried his father all those years ago. At first he had been under the impression that he was just rewatching his father’s funeral again, but this time there were no guests around - not even his mother or his sister. The place was desolate, and Jim walked and walked for what seemed like an eternity until finally he came across the same church that they had held the funeral service in. Jim had wandered past the empty pews and portraits of Mary and Jesus, coming to a sudden stop once he reached the end of the aisle to find a lone casket awaiting him.

At first the body inside looked unrecognisable; it was only small and had been reduced mostly to nothing but bones, apart from the odd piece of rotten skin that was hanging off of it. It’s jaw was out of place and it’s eyes were wide open and petrified. Before Jim could say or do anything, the corpse had leapt up from the casket and started to howl and scream terribly - and that was when, with a jolt of horror, Jim realised that the corpse was him.

He awoke not longer after that in his hospital bed, now drenched in cold sweat that stuck to his hospital gown and the palms of his hands. The room was cold, but the sounds of the beeping machines accompanied by Sebastian’s long, drawn-out snores were enough to convince Jim that he was safe, and that nothing was going to come and take him away. Once the tension in his chest had relaxed and his heart rate had dropped, the irishman slowly eased himself up into a sitting position so that he could shuffle over to where Sebastian was sleeping.

He leant forward, and gently pecked a kiss to the top of the man’s forehead.

“Night, Sebastian.”

The clock on the wall was barely distinguishable in the darkness, but Jim could just about see that the hour hand was pointing towards 4 o’ clock. That meant that it would be light soon. Stifling a soft yawn, Jim slipped back under the covers against and closed his eyes. But he didn’t sleep, he just laid there listening to the sound of Sebastian’s consistent snores, as well as the finches and sparrows from outside the window as they began their birdsong to start the day.


	8. Trapping a Wasp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sebastian agree on a plan to scare away Joe and destroy the drug ring, but Jim is planning something far bigger.

The next morning, Sebastian managed to persuade Jim to go on a walk around the grounds. After a relentless battle between him the irishman a few hours prior, he had finally been able to convince him that the fresh air would do them both some good, so with some heavy reluctance Jim finally complied. Sebastian had gone home the same morning to fetch a change of clothes for Jim and to check up on Kirk and give him some food, and with a little help from Sebastian Jim had been able to change out of his hospital gown and into a far more comfortable set of his own pyjamas.

Still dressed in his pyjamas, he and Moran had ventured out into the hospital courtyard to lap up the final hour or so of sun before the clouds came along and plunged them into darkness again. Sunlight had been futile the past few days, so the gentle orange glow reflecting down onto the patio outside made for a nice change. Sebastian was munching on a ham sandwich from the canteen whilst Jim sat beside him and relished in the bitter warmth. He had offered to buy his counterpart some food too, but Jim said that he didn’t have much of an appetite so he politely declined. Sebastian assumed that it was the drugs still in his system that was putting him off his food, and he hoped that it would fix itself when they returned back home again.  
  
“Is Kirk okay?”

They had chosen a spot a little way away from the hospital entrance, a small wooden bench by the grass where patients could come and relax for half-an-hour or so. It was relatively quiet, Jim put it down to the fact that it was a cold day in December, and because everybody else was either too busy sleeping or currently on their deathbed. He was wrapped up tightly in a dressing gown, the same one that he had worn on the night of the incident - Sebastian had forced him to wear it ‘in-case he got cold’, and despite his skepticism Jim put it on anyway simply to please the man and ease his worries.

“Kirk’s fine, Jim. He’s not the one you should be worried about,” Sebastian mumbled in response, halfway through taking a large bite of his sandwich.

The contents of the sandwich were practically spilling out of the end, and Jim watched with a mixture of amazement and disgust as Sebastian demolished the sandwich in two more ridiculously-big bites.

Jim rested his head against Sebastian’s shoulder as they sat there, he wasn’t quite sure why. They hadn’t spoken anymore about the kiss the previous day, nor had they discussed any emotions they might be feeling for one another. As of now Jim still liked to label what they had as strictly ‘platonic’, although he had a feeling they had crossed that barrier a long time ago. A warm hum escaped Sebastian’s lips as he binned the sandwich wrapper into the bin and slipped an arm around Jim’s waist in return. They savoured the precious silence for a minute or so, before Jim abruptly broke it. A thought had been plaguing his mind ever since they had first touched upon the subject.

“Sebastian?”

“Hm?”

“You said that the production of Romeo and Juliet you were holding was one of those weird revised ones, right? So does that mean that you use guns in it?”

Sebastian was rather disappointed by Jim’s question, mainly because he had been expecting him to talk about what had happened the previous night. He would have been lying if he said that he wasn’t desperate to talk about it; His mind was filled to the brim with emotions regarding the shorter irishman, and he wanted nothing more than to suddenly confess all of his love and affection for Jim - in hopes that maybe, just maybe, Jim would admit to feeling the same way about him too. But for now Jim appeared to still be caught up with the thought of murder, so the taller of the two had to try and hide his mild disappointment as he shrugged in agreement.

“Yeah I guess,” he grunted. “Our producer wanted to use guns instead of daggers, so now Juliet shoots herself at the end instead… Whatever, it’s modern theatre I suppose. It can’t be helped.”

Jim had only been listening to the first half of Sebastian’s sentence, completely ignoring his complaints about Juliet. He gave a hum of satisfaction as he sat upright again, looking up towards the other man with an eager expression.

“Does that mean they work?”

Sebastian snorted at once, shaking his head at the ridiculous nature of the question.“Don’t be daft, they’re only props.”

Jim was less satisfied by Sebastian’s newest response, and without another word he got to his feet and beckoned for Sebastian to come with him. He could spot a few nurses milling around by the entrance out of the corner of his eye, and he wanted their conversation to remain strictly confidential - so in that case they’d have to find somewhere without any disturbances. Jim began to walk back inside again, and instead of questioning him Sebastian simply followed on behind him like an obedient guard dog. He still wasn’t entirely convinced about Jim’s cover-story, and a part of him still thought that Jim had taken an intentional overdose, which was why throughout Jim’s hospital stay he had decided to do whatever the shorter man wanted and blindly follow his commands. It was mainly out of fear that he would only upset Jim even more, and send him spiralling again. They travelled back up the lift alongside a few elderly patients, before eventually arriving at the third floor and getting out so that Jim could lead the way back towards his room. Sebastian had to apologise to the elderly patients in the lift for Jim’s behaviour after he the irishman had barged past them all, before hastily departing the lift and running to catch up with Jim.

“You know you can’t just push past old people when you want to get somewhere, Jim. It’s rude,” Sebastian commented with a flustered huff, closing the door behind them both before locking it when Jim instructed him to. He had been a little wary about locking the door incase any of the nurses or doctors grew suspicious, but Jim had assured him that it was okay and it would help give them some more privacy.

“Have you ever fired a gun before?” Jim asked as he took a seat on top of the bed, watching as Sebastian to join him and squeezed into the tiny space next to him.

“Preferably a real one.”

The taller man had to think about the question for a moment, though soon enough a firm smile had spread across his lips. Jim noted how he seemed to be practically radiating with pride.

“I was in the cadets growing up, we used to shoot rifles whenever we went on camps,” he explained eagerly.

Jim tried to picture the image of a younger Sebastian in his head - no longer was he standing in-front of the Taj Mahal but now he was sneaking through the forest, smeared in war paint with a rifle clasped in his hands. He wondered what it was like to be in the cadets; if they skinned rabbits and cooked them over a campfire, or if they had to fend for themselves in the wilderness and fight off wild animals. He himself had never been a cadet, or even a scout for that matter. His mother and father had attempted to coax him into joining the cub scouts when he was much younger, but that had only ended up in tears and tantrums so they had soon scrapped the idea altogether.

“So then you know how a gun works?”

Sebastian nodded.

“Hm.”

The taller man could see that Jim was thinking, his dark gaze had drifted slightly so that he was now staring at the wall, and Sebastian had to nudge him a little to gain his attention again.

“What is it?” He asked, narrowing his eyes almost nervously. If Jim was already plotting the murder then he wasn’t sure if he could handle it or not.

“I have an idea,” Jim explained cooly, a smile now spreading across his own lips to match Sebastian’s own previous expression of pride.

“…You already have experience with shooting a gun, and I don’t like getting my hands dirty so it works perfectly.”

“Jim-“

“-But you said it yourself, the prop guns are fakes. So maybe we don’t have to _actually_ kill Joe, we just have to scare him away so that he doesn’t come back. If we frighten him badly enough then we might be able to stop the drug ring.”

They both feel silent; Jim seemed to be marvelling at the idea of staging a fake-shooting, whilst Sebastian seemed to be struggling to comprehend it all. It took another minute of strained silence until Moran had finally processed it all, allowing Jim to take a breath of relief.

“A blank-firing pistol will do the trick. You can pull the trigger and it’ll make a noise, I’ve seen them using them in rehearsal, they’re pretty realistic,” Sebastian mused, creating a gun shape with his hand and pretending to fire it at his counterpart, watching as Jim collapsed over-dramatically back against the bed, almost knocking over the tray of untouched lunch that had been left for him. Sebastian chuckled at once. So a decision had been made then, there was no turning back.

Jim sat back up, flattening down his hair with the tips of his fingers to try and smarten himself up a bit. The dosage of morphine that he had received had virtually completely worn off now, meaning that his joints had started to ache again and a dull throb had begun to rattle around his head. His suspicions were confirmed when one of the assigned nurses entered the room to give him a top up, as well as to collect his tray of food. She was somewhat disheartened to find that Jim hadn’t touched a single morsel, but Sebastian had spotted the look in her eye and promised that ‘they were working on it.’

After pulling a few strings with the nurses, Jim was able to convince the nurses to discharge him a day earlier than anticipated. They had been reluctant at first, but after copious conversations, and a cruel amount of begging, Jim was finally able to waltz out of the hospital entrance once again whilst Sebastian traipsed behind him carrying a bundle of Jim’s belongings in his arms. The dark-haired man hopped down each of the steps gleefully, something which Sebastian had later compared to ‘a celebrity going to collect an award’. But Jim was happy, happy that the bastard Joe would no longer plague him if he played his cards correctly. That was very important.

They would have walked back to the flat since it was only a short distance, but Sebastian had started to complain about how his arms were aching from having to hold Jim’s things and in the end they had resorted to hailing for a cab. Kirk had greeted them upon arrival, more than delighted to be reunited with now _both_ of his owners once more. They hadn’t agreed on it via a proper discussion yet, however there was a general consensus that Jim’s place in the household would become permanent. Jim was still blissfully unaware about what class their relationship status fit into, but he was soon distracted by Kirk demanding belly rubs.

That night to celebrate, Sebastian had offered to take them both out to see a play. Admittedly the play had been the same production of Romeo and Juliet that his own company were performing in, but Jim had been far too enticed to complain. All of the dialogue and fight scenes had seemed so real, apart from the kiss at the end which was quite clearly fake (Sebastian had revealed at the end that both of the actors playing Romeo and Juliet despised each-other entirely when off-stage). He had taken a keen interest in the weapons however; like Sebastian had already explained they were using prop guns, and Jim listened closely to every bullet-shot and click of the trigger throughout the play, trying to imagine how the same scene would play out if Joe was presented with one of the guns.

But something was almost off, the guns didn’t sound overly-real and the sound didn’t appear to be convincing enough. If they were to make their own performance even more spectacular then they would have to find a means to fix the problem.

When the play finished and the actors all returned on stage to take their bows, both Sebastian and Jim got to their feet alongside the rest of the audience and began to clap. Sebastian was too busy cheering and whistling to notice that Jim had stopped clapping, and after making some half-hearted excuse he had hastily snuck off towards the toilets before anybody had a chance to notice that he was missing. After finding a spare cubicle Jim snuck inside and bolted the door, perching on top of a closed toilet seat whilst he dug around in his pocket for a pen. He couldn’t find one, but in the end he had found a chewed-up pencil which he supposed would suffice.

Jim could hear the flush of a toilet from the stall next to him, followed swiftly by the sound of the tap as the water started to run. He watched from the gap in the bottom of the stall as the pair of shoes lingered momentarily before finally the person headed towards the door again and left quickly, shutting it behind him. And once Jim was satisfied that he was alone again, he grabbed a wad of toilet paper from the holder and began to scribble down writing.

They needed a real gun.

He took longer than he had meant to, and when he slipped out to the bathroom he was greeted by Sebastian who was lingering suspiciously outside of the door waiting for him. There was a flood of people in the foyer now, all dressed in formal attire with programmes and purses clutched in their grips, all chattering away about the play. Jim was about to suggest that they went home, but Sebastian had already pulled him aside to a more secluded area of the foyer.

“Look what I got my hands on,” the taller man whispered, waiting until nobody was looking before slipping what appeared to be a gun out of his jacket pocket. At first Jim’s heart almost leapt out of his chest, until he realised that it was only a prop.

“How did you get that?” He demanded as Sebastian slipped the gun back into his pocket.

“I went to visit the store room whilst you were in the loo, one of the cleaners must have accidentally left it unlocked,” Moran explained with an added shrug.

Jim was desperate to tell Sebastian about his new plan regarding a real, but the foyer was becoming increasingly packed with people, with everybody desperate to get home for the night. He chewed on the bottom of his lip warily, and after some debating he finally decided not to tell Sebastian after all. In an ideal world he would have told him all about it, about his ingenious plan to exchange the prop gun with a real gun and actually shoot Joe dead once and for all, but Sebastian was far too ecstatic and he couldn’t risk causing a scene in-front of so many potential witnesses. So when Sebastian suggested getting the tube back home again Jim simply smiled and nodded obediently, not even daring to utter a single word.

Maybe Sebastian didn’t have to know. And as they bid farewell to the theatre for the night, Jim secretly wondered what Shakespeare would say about the whole situation if he were still alive. They were setting the stage for the perfect tragedy. 


	9. Dead Man Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sebastian commit their first murder, but things don't go to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - mentions of violence/blood

According to Jim, Joe could be found most evenings hanging around the back of Covent Garden accompanied by his group of cronies. Sebastian’s house had a glass conservatory attached which overlooked the garden, and on one particularly groggy afternoon they had discussed their arrangements over a pot of tea. Jim had been sat on the window ledge watching as the rain pattered against the glass, whilst Sebastian resided on an armchair just behind him, nibbling on pink wafer biscuit from the packet that he had found hidden away in the back of one of the cupboards. He had offered one to Jim, who had swiftly turned it down.

Jim had been home for a solid day now, meaning that Sebastian now acted as his unofficial butler. Despite initially believing that Jim had taken an intentional overdose, the doctors had finally agreed that it was in-fact more likely that he had experienced an adverse drug reaction instead, undoubtably from the mysterious pills that Joe had been feeding him all that time. And Jim, who had been rather smug about the news, had used it to his advantage to garner as much sympathy as possible. Usually he was a proud man, but if sympathy meant that you got free chocolate whenever you desired and were allowed to stay in your pyjamas all day then Jim was all for it.

The rain had grown steadily worse as the afternoon passed into early evening, not to mention the gradual mist that had started to fog up the windows. Despite Christmas being only a few weeks away neither Sebastian or Jim had taken it upon themselves to put up any decorations; Sebastian had received a little animatronic penguin from the secret santa that he had done at work, which lit up in song and dance whenever you squeezed it, but the constant repetition of ‘Jingle Bells’ was beginning to drive them both insane. Apart from that they had nothing, no tree, no lights, and as of yet seemingly no presents either. Jim had put it down to the fact that his hospital stay had dampened the holiday spirit a little, well, that and the fact that neither of them seemed to like Christmas very much.

When the sky outside finally began to grow dark, Sebastian decided that it was time to get up and clear away the empty cups of tea. Jim followed suit, picking up his own half-empty mug and carrying it through into the kitchen so that he could pour the remaining contents down the drain.

“I’m thinking we should do it tonight, you know,” the irishman mused quietly as the plughole gave a satisfactory gurgle and he placed his now-empty cup into the sink basin. “Visit Joe, I mean.”

Sebastian, who was polishing off the last of the pink wafers, smiled widely at the idea.

“What made you choose tonight?” he asked curiously, binning the now-empty packet of biscuits as Kirk sneaked into the kitchen to try and eat up any lingering crumbs from the ground. Sebastian didn’t appear to be phased at all by the suggestion, and Jim felt his stomach knot a little as he simply shrugged it off.

“I dunno. I guess I’m just feeling lucky tonight,” he hummed calmly.

The idea of switching the two guns was still gnawing at his conscience; it had been bubbling constantly in his mind throughout the entirety of the day, and Jim was secretly pleased that Sebastian hadn’t caught him in the bathroom earlier in a state of panic. He had killed animals before, but he highly doubted that humans would be just as easy. When he had killed Mrs Thompson’s cat when he was younger it had been old and frail and missing a leg, but Joe was a tall, bulky grown-man. And he wasn’t missing any limbs either. But as long as they did things correctly then surely it wouldn’t be too much of a strain, with the click of a trigger Joe would instantly be dead and they wouldn’t need to worry anymore.

“Shall we go now?” Sebastian questioned, prizing himself away from the kitchen counter as he nudged Jim’s shoulder to try and knock him out of his daydream. “Everything’s ready, all we have to do now is find that man you were talking about.”

Jim was startled by the suggestion, and immediately shook his head in horror.

“ _No_!” He exclaimed all of a sudden, causing the taller of the two to recoil immediately in surprise. Jim realised how suspicious it must have looked, so he managed a shaky laugh and slowly shook his head again.“No, no I need to go back to my flat first,” he continued with a strained smile, but Sebastian was still eyeing him suspiciously so he continued:

“We don’t want Joe ratting us out to the police, do we? We need something to hide our faces, I have the perfect thing back in my old flat, why don’t I go get it?”

Sebastian was slow to agree, and despite his still-prominent suspicion he still nodded at last in agreement.

“Alright, but let me come with you.”

It had been a long time since Jim had revisited the estate, but nothing appeared to have changed. They passed Waterloo Station on their way, which was still packed with commuters as the familiar sound of the trains rattling filled the air. It was a comforting sound, as was the sight of the graffiti on the side of the estate which still hadn’t been washed off. The council were fairly rubbish at fixing these things, which gave Jim some sort of hope for what he was about to do.

“Did you want me to come in with you?” Sebastian asked once the taxi they were occupying had stopped at the side of the road, and Jim opened the door to get out. But the irishman quickly brushed away the idea.

“It’s fine, I’ll only be quick,” he promised, reaching into his pocket and waving around the key to his apartment so that Sebastian wouldn’t worry.

“Just wait here for me, okay?”

“You’re gonna have to pay extra for this you know, mate,” the taxi driver grumbled irritably from the front-seat. “I’ve got other clients to pick up, you’re holding me up.”

Alongside them was a large black rucksack, within it was the prop gun, which Sebastian had wrapped up in one of his jackets to try and hide it. Without another word, Jim grabbed the rucksack from under Sebastian’s feet and slung it over his shoulder, making eye contact with the taller man for a split second before he started to walk through the car park, eventually escaping inside the block of flats where the occupants in the taxi could no longer see him.

He travelled to his own flat first just like he had promised, dumping the rucksack onto the floor as he used the key to unlock the door. The place was still as freezing cold as he had left it, and the countless rooms were dark from where the power had been cut out. Jim manoeuvred his way carefully past the hallway and into his bedroom, rummaging around in his drawer of clothes before pulling out two identical-looking balaclavas. He had acquired them back when he had first moved into the flat, being told from one of the other residents that they’d ‘help him to avoid the coppers’. If anything Jim considered them to be house-warming gifts, and now they had come in perfectly useful.

He shoved the balaclavas into the rucksack before closing the front-door behind him and continuing his descent down the hallway. The sight of the gratified, wooden boards at the end of the hallway signalled that he was close to the old apartment that his neighbour Mister Madley had lived in before he died. The council still had’t taken down the boards or even attempted to clean up the place, so with a heavy grunt Jim used his hands to try and prize the boards away so that he could reach the front-door. To his relief, the boards were cheap and flimsy and they soon clattered to the ground, causing a loud thud as they toppled. The thud echoed down the hallway, and he’d have to be quick before somebody caught him.

Jim stepped over the now-broken boards as he wrestled with the handle on the front-door, eventually forcing it open so that he could creep into the unoccupied flat. The whole place still reeked of what was undoubtably the smell of death, and Jim tried to use his coat sleeve to shield himself from the smell as he ventured inside. Th flat itself was clearly old, judging by the copious amount of patterned wallpaper that was plastered across the wall, and the once-white carpets which were now brown and stained. The walls were decorated mainly with photo frames of Madley’s prized motorbikes, with the vehicles taking up the primary spotlightso that there were virtually no photos of Madley’s family. It made Jim wonder if the old man had a family at all.

Both the kitchen and living room proved to be useless, so Jim decided to try his luck with the bedroom. The interior of the bedroom was different to that of the rest of the house; instead of photographs of motorbikes the walls were covered with what appeared to be countless certificates as well as medals.

_‘this is to certify that_

_DOUGLAS J. MADLEY_

_has been officially awarded the position of_

_LIEUTENANT-COLONEL’_

Jim’s heart leapt at the sight of the certificates, and with a wave of disbelief it dawned on him that maybe the old man hadn’t been lying about his position in the army after all. But Jim wasn’t here to gawk over certificates all day long, so he forced himself away from the wall so that he could begin to search the rest of the bedroom.

A car horn sounded angrily from outside. The taxi driver was growing impatient.

Jim searched through the drawers and under the bed until finally from inside a suitcase on top of the bed Jim found it. A gun. A real metal handgun, which glistened in the light pouring in from the window. Ever since moving into the flat there had always been rumours of the gun that Mister Madley kept hidden away in his apartment. Madley himself had never commented on the rumours, and even Jim had been sceptical about whether it was true or not. Until now.

He didn’t have much time to celebrate, another car horn sounded from outside so hastily he pulled the fake gun out from the rucksack, replacing it with the real gun instead. It was fairly heavy, to Jim it seemed like there were already bullets inside of it. Once he finished what he was doing he quickly zipped up the rucksack, sliding it over his shoulder again as he made his way down the stairwell towards the car park. The cabbie had already started up the engine, and Jim climbed back into his seat beside Sebastian, dumping the rucksack back onto the floor once more. Sebastian looked quizzical, but as the taxi pulled away and started its journey towards Covent Garden he didn’t say anything, so Jim decided not to worry about it.

The fare at the end of the journey was expensive, and the cabbie was adamant that they paid even more money since he had been forced to wait around for Jim. Sebastian unwillingly pulled out his wallet and offered the driver a few notes, instructing him to just keep the change before he took the chance to escape the tense taxi with Jim by his side.

Judging by the time, the market stalls that usually lined the street had been packed up a few hours prior, leaving the streets pretty much empty. The bright street-lights reflected onto the puddles on the ground, and Jim took the lead as they marched together to a slightly quieter spot. They stopped by a rubbish dump, and Jim wasted no time in opening up the rucksack to collect both of their disguises, handing one over to his counterpart.

Sebastian took a little longer than Jim to slip the balaclava over his head, mostly because he he had been so daunted by the prospect of wearing one.

“I’m not sure if I like this or not, Jim. We look like proper criminals,” he murmured uncomfortably, his voice muffled slightly by the thick cotton mask wrapped around his face.

Jim merely brushed away his concerns with a roll of his eyes.

“We’re already in trouble for carrying one of these guns around with us. Trust me, everything about this is breaking the law.”

Their brief conversation was interrupted by the sound of voices approaching, and Jim recognised one of the louder voices as belonging to Joe. Sebastian must have spotted the expression on the irishman’s face as he soon cursed under his breath, falling silent as the two of them hid together behind the wall.

_“Like I said, that’s my final offer. You can complain all you want but we made a deal.”_

Jim frowned, trying to make out what was being said. The exchange stopped momentarily, and he could’ve sworn that he overheard the sound of money being handed over, accompanied by the all-too-familiar crinkling sound of a plastic bag.

_“Atta boy. I’ll see you at the Castle Inn tomorrow then, let’s say 4’ o clock? Don’t be late.”_

_“Fine. Goodnight, Joe.”_

_“See you tomorrow.”_

A single pair of footsteps hastily rushed away, whilst a chorus of laughter coming from Joe could be heard echoing down the street. Jim cautiously peered past the gap in the wall, only to spot Joe leant against a row of railings as he attempted to light a cigarette, but the rain kept dampening his lighter. The laughter had been replaced by a series of annoyed grunts now as the man’s full attention was drawn to the cigarette in his hand, giving Jim an opportunity to rummage through the rucksack and retrieve the gun for Sebastian. He was worried that Sebastian would quickly realise that it was a different gun from the original one he had stolen and refuse to go ahead with their plan, but the noise that Jim had created when rummaging through the backpack appeared to have caught Joe’s attention.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” The dealer demanded sourly, flicking the cigarette aside and swiftly stamping on it with his foot. “Don’t be a cat. I fucking hate cats.”

Sebastian’s face paled in horror and initially he started to panic, staring down at the gun in his hands as he tried to comprehend what they were actually doing. But Jim, who was fairly less sympathetic, noticed the man’s hesitance and gave him an almighty shove so that he toppled away from behind their hiding place, and was now in full view of Joe. He tumbled onto his side, and after a dazed few seconds he struggled up to his feet and raised the handgun up to meet Joe’s skull.

Clearly puzzled, Joe froze in his tracks.

“H- Who the Hell are you?”

Jim clambered up to his feet right away so that he wouldn’t miss a single second of what was going on. If this was what it felt like to be Bonnie and Clyde then he loved it - the thrill of it all, the sight of the gun shining magnificently in Sebastian’s outstretched hand. The handgun clasped in Moran’s hand had been spotted by Joe now, who immediately stumbled back and threw his hands up in defence.

“What the fuck is that thing? Is this a joke? Is this-“

Joe had tried to run, but before he even had time to make it to the end of the street Sebastian had pulled the trigger. A sharp gunshot sounded, before Joe collapsed ungracefully to the pavement.

There was a pool of dark blood pouring from out of his back.

Sebastian had already dropped the gun, and when Jim came running over to join him he looked practically paralysed to the spot, his mouth twisted into a pained grimace of shock and his face drained of any colour. The irishman reached a hand out to congratulate him, but it was only then when Sebastian immediately recoiled and stumbled backwards. Jim, who was extremely alarmed by the sudden recoil, casted his attention back towards Joe again. That was when he realised why Sebastian was so frightened.

Joe was still alive.

It had been hard to see at first, until finally Jim spotted small twitches coming from Joe’s hands and fingers, as though he was trying to claw at the ground in an attempt to get back up. His movements were accompanied by raspy groans, which the irishman could only interpret to be a desperate plead for help. The bleeding from the bullet wound in his back had only worsened as the time passed, his entire shirt was now practically drenched in soaking-wet blood, and as their victim tried to locate the wound with his hands he simply gotten his hands covered in blood too. Jim didn’t doubt that Joe was probably in excruciating pain right now, however his main priority was getting away from the crime scene.

“What the fuck are are we going to do?”

It was the first time that Sebastian had spoken since firing the gun. His voice sounded small and frail, his words cracking occasionally as if he was trying to hold back tears. Jim could hear the guilt in it, and for the first time since they had shot Joe he couldn’t help but feel a little bad - not for Joe but for Sebastian who seemed to have taken the brunt of it all. But the shorter of the pair didn’t speak at first. For the first time in his life he didn’t know what to say, he was speechless.

“We need to take the gun and go,” Jim instructed once he had finally plucked up the courage to speak.

At the sound of the familiar Irish accent, Joe’s body seemed to jerk and contort violently as though he recognised it and was trying to stand, but he quickly became distracted by the pain as a terrible howl escaped his lips and he fell rigid once more. Realising that Sebastian was still transfixed by the sight of the blood, Jim shovelled the gun back into the rucksack again before grabbing hold of Sebastian’s hand, and forcibly removing him from the scene.

Though despite trying his best, it was impossible to get Sebastian to cooperate. Every time Jim tried to pull him away the taller man would only struggle against his grip and try to free himself. He wanted to go back, no-doubt to attend to the bleeding man, however Jim was extremely adamant that they needed to leave, and it wasn’t until Sebastian’s body finally grew too tired to fight back that he finally complied.

The walk back to the house was done in silence. It was a long walk, and admittedly Jim’s legs were hurting by the end of it, but Sebastian had stormed on ahead and the irishman hadn’t felt like criticising him. The sound of the whimpering and the cries had disappeared as soon as they left Covent Garden, and neither man had looked back to check if Joe was still showing any signs of life or not. 

Once they reached the house, not even Kirk was there to greet them by the door. Sebastian entered first, instantly ripping off his balaclava as he traipsed through the dimly-lit hallway before accidentally nudging the animatronic toy that was perched on the shelf. At once the toy lit up and started to sing its usual chorus of ‘jingle bells’, until Sebastian suddenly spun round and punched the poor toy penguin with all of his might, watching as it fell from the shelf and hit the ground below. The batteries all rolled out onto the floorboards, and the penguin uttered a few last croaky Christmas lyrics before it malfunctioned completely and switched off, and the light died out. The animatronic penguin lay lifeless on the ground for a few seconds before this time Sebastian raised his foot, stamping on it over and over until there was a definite crunch and the toy had been dismembered into multiple pieces.

Jim, who had been watching from the sidelines, felt as his stomach knotted at the sight. Sebastian didn’t seem to have realised what he’d done until his body had stopped trembling and he had managed to catch his breath again. Heavy, exhausted gasps filled the hallway as the taller man sunk down to the ground, burying his head in his hands. And Jim could only watch on as he began to sob violently.

He had expected the crying to stop within a few minutes, but it didn’t. It just went on and on until Jim dared to take the first step forward and lower a tentative hand to Sebastian’s shoulder. Seeing his fellow housemate in pure distress was beginning to make Jim feel rather ill, and whilst he himself didn’t feel any emotion towards the shooting, _nor_ did he know how to comfort people, he still figured that Sebastian was in need of urgent comfort.

“Hey, Sebastian? Look don’t-“

Jim’s hand had only been resting on Sebastians shoulder for a short few seconds before suddenly he felt a tight sensation around his wrist, and to his disbelief he realised that the other man was squeezing his wrist so tightly to the point that he feared Sebastian might just crush the bones altogether.

“Stop it… You’re hurting me.”

When Sebastian finally did let go, Jim yanked his wrist away as quickly as possible before shooting a furious glare towards the taller man. Although it was a look that didn’t quite manage to hide Jim’s feeling of utter terror. Sebastian had finally stopped crying now, and after using the back of his sleeve to wipe away his tears, he rose back to his feet again and came to tower over the shorter man. Even Jim couldn’t deny that the man’s presence was highly daunting.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

At first it was hard to tell whether the words had come from Sebastian’s lips or not, mainly because they sounded so… different. Jim was used to the normal, playful Sebastian Moran, the one who made the constant nerdy book references and spent several hours each morning in the shower singing to his heart’s content. And despite the fact that they looked perfectly identical, this wasn’t the same man. The man-in-question who was currently hovering over Jim had a brutish, rogue demeanour about him. The edge of his pale lips was curled as he uttered a snarl, and his eyes were cold and fixed upon the little irishman in-front of him.

“Tell me, James.”

There was a hand clutching to his shirt now, and Jim attempted to squirm away but to no prevail.

He tried to escape the man’s tight grip a few more times, but after deciding that Sebastian was far too strong for his liking and it would only lead to further failure, Jim had ended up ditching all attempts. If he hadn’t been frightened that Sebastian was going to bash his brains in then Jim would have said something, but in that moment he could only manage a pathetic nod. _Yes, yes he had._

Moran’s grip slowly loosened from the fabric of his shirt as he let go, his fist subsequently curling into a tight ball to prevent him from doing anything similar again. He was still hovering over Jim, but there was enough space between them now for Jim to wriggle away to safety. He didn’t run away, he just lingered on the edge of the staircase where he knew he’d be safe.

It was difficult to tell how Sebastian was feeling emotionally. Even though the crying had stopped it still wasn’t enough to hide the puffiness around his cheeks and the red, bloodshot nature of his eyes. He stumbled towards the edge of the staircase like a drunken fool, only to sink down onto the first step and heave a disgruntled sigh.

“I think you should go to bed, James.”

And this time Jim didn’t argue with him, he simply went.

“I’m sorry I hurt you," he managed just before he reached the top of the staircase.

But Sebastian didn’t respond.


	10. First Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Jim are forced to come to terms with what happened.

Sebastian didn’t come downstairs for breakfast at the normal time the following morning, nor did he arrive to have his usual smoke in the garden.

Admittedly Jim hadn’t slept that well the previous night; the constant tossing and turning reminded him of when he had been bed-bound in hospital, and he could count at least three times where he had woken up during the night, the vivd image of Joe laying in a pool of his own blood still etched into his mind. It wasn’t to say that Jim hadn’t enjoyed it because he certainly had, and most of the time he found himself falling back asleep fairly quickly - however his main concern regarded Sebastian. He had listened very carefully during the early hours of the morning when movement finally sounded from the bedroom across the hallway, but it had only been futile and soon enough the house had become still again. The silence only made the irishman’s skin crawl, and he could only hope that it wouldn’t be a permanent addition to the already-tense household.

Jim had been sat eating his plate of toast during breakfast that morning when he had absent-mindedly switched on the television, only to be greeted with the image of Covent Garden, which appeared to be sectioned off with yellow police caution tape. The news anchors covering the main-story of the day looked solemn, and Jim’s gut wrenched with uneasiness at the sight of the blood-stained pavement, accompanied by a picture of none other than Joe in the right hand corner of the screen. By the looks of things Joe was dead, he had suffered for another half-an-hour after they had left before eventually succumbing to the blood loss. The market owners had found him that same morning in the early hours when they had arrived to set up their stalls. Immediately he dropped his slice of toast which clattered down onto the plate, getting up to his feet and racing upstairs.

“It’s all over the fucking news. It’s him, it’s Joe. It’s Joe and everybody’s talking about-“

To his surprise, Sebastian was already awaiting him at the top of the stairs. He was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, implying to Jim that he hadn’t even taken it upon himself to change, or even wash for that matter. Both of them shared the same heavy bags under their eyes, whilst Moran looked equally just as haggard and exhausted. Initially Jim was relieved to find that Sebastian had calmed down since the previous day, although his hopes had quickly been diminished when Sebastian offered merely a scoff in return, and shook his head disappointedly.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

The words were filled to the brim with spite.

“What do you mean?”

Sebastian hadn’t stayed to listen to Jim’s question, and had already pushed his way past him so that he could skulk back inside his bedroom again. Jim moved to follow after him, until he was barred from entering almost immediately by a small growl that came from below, and upon looking down he spotted the small terrier sat by his feet, no doubt obediently protecting his master from the danger. The danger in this case being Jim. The shorter man took the warning and instinctively stepped back, satisfying the little dog as it proceeded to plod off back to Sebastian by the bedside.

The curtains in the room were still drawn, banishing any light from entering. Sebastian sat on the centre of the bed, a cigarette raised to his lips as he took long, subtle drags. Since the smoke had nowhere to escape to, it simply mingled with the air, and once he was satisfied enough, Moran took a final drag from the cigarette before lowering it to his side, turning his gaze to fix upon Jim who was still lingering precariously by the door.

“What are you, Jim?” He asked.

The choice of words had stuck out distinctly to the irishman; it wasn’t a ‘who’ question, but instead a ‘what’. Sebastian had asked _what_ he was instead of _who_ he was, as if he was some sort of loathsome parasite or simply a fly on the wall. The words hurt, yet still Jim showed no emotion. He displayed no sense of sadness or confusion, not even the tiniest hint of anger which would have been expected. Instead he just blinked, and stared on blankly.

A cruel smirk curled at Sebastian’s lips at the other man’s expression, and after tapping out his cigarette he decided to continue even without having received an answer:

“You’re a machine, James. Thats what I think,” he cooed bitterly. The smirk appeared to falter as soon as the words left his mouth as though he regretted them, but the rage was still prominent nevertheless.

“And I envy you for that… I envy you for not feeling anything, for not feeling even the tiniest bit of remorse or regret for anything you do. Sometimes I wish I could be like you, to not give a single shit about the whole entire world, but unfortunately some of us are actually human beings.”

A thick lump had settled in Jim’s throat, making it virtually impossible for him to snarl back at Sebastian. If anything he should have been grateful; he could feel even more anger manifesting inside of himself than before, and if he spoke without thinking then it would only add chaos to the already-rampant storm that was brewing. The momentary silence seemed to give them both a chance to calm down; Jim had managed to find his voice again whilst Sebastian’s demeanour had completely crumbled. The wall of confidence had broken down, and the sight of the tired, empathetic tiger was a much more familiar comfort.

“If I’m a machine then what does that make us?” Jim questioned.

His question hadn’t meant to make Sebastian feel bad, it hadn’t even meant to sound angry in the slightest. But whilst he wasn’t so angry he was still wary, and cautious. Jim didn’t want to let Sebastian off the hook so easily for what he had said, yet still the words had sparked some kind of realisation inside of him - a realisation for the first ever time that perhaps he was the one in the wrong. He had planned the murder, and that made him accountable.

The shift in the smaller man’s expression must have been noticeable, because it was then when Sebastian got to his feet and beckoned Jim over. He gave a silent request for Jim to help him open the curtains, and with two sharp tugs the curtains soon pulled apart and cold light flooded into the room. Jim peered out of the window. The clouds looked like it was going to snow. To snow in mid-December was an odd phenomenon - something that generally didn’t occur in London of all places. But it was nice.

“I don’t know what we are,” Sebastian commented truthfully, fully-aware that his counterpart had become distracted as he tried to gain his attention back. “And in all honesty I don’t think I want to know.”

Both men fell speechless, both coming to stand next to each-other as they admired the first few tentative drops of snow descend down onto the grass below. The snowfall was nothing dramatic, it was only feeble and likely wouldn’t even set, but it was peaceful.

After a few minutes Jim realised that Sebastian had taken ahold of his hand.  
  
“I don’t think we can rescue ourselves from this one, you know. Whatever this is,” he murmured sluggishly, only for Moran to smile and quickly shake his head.

“I think I came to that realisation last night,” he breathed, staring out towards the grey canvas of the city as more snow continued to drift along. “And whilst I haven’t quite accepted it just yet I think I will, I s’pose only time will tell.”

After a few seconds of deliberation, Jim’s head came to rest loosely upon Sebastian’s shoulder, and this time Sebastian allowed it to. The contact was much-needed, especially after having not seen each-other all night, and ever so slowly the taller of the two lifted up his free hand so that he could brush it through the soft strands of Jim’s hair, listening as he gave a cat-like purr of delight in response. Jim wasn’t sure what home felt like, but he had a strong feeling that this had to be close. Over the past month he had grown so accustomed to the smell of cigarettes that lingered throughout the house, Sebastian’s muddy boots in the hallway, and the mess of clothes and papers constantly strewn around the carpet; The irishman had never considered Ireland to be his home, even after having lived there for so long, and even during his first few years in London things had never felt quite right, like something was almost…missing.

But Sebastian had pulled him into a gentle embrace not long after the thought had crossed his mind, so he simply allowed it to dissipate.

“What did the news say?” The older man eventually broke the silence a minute later, his voice muffled somewhat from where his chin was practically rested on top of Jim’s head. “What happened to Joe?”

Jim hadn’t heard his question at first, he had become so caught up in the embrace that he had forgotten everything around him. After uttering a disorientated ‘huh?’ He finally raised his head to look up towards Sebastian again, his shoulders sinking calmly when he realised that he had only asked about Joe.

“They found him, dead I mean. A couple of the market-stall owners called the police a few hours after we left.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but snort.

“Did anybody try and help him?”

“Fat chance… But I say good riddance, he had it coming to him anyway.”

It was refreshing to see how calmly the taller of the two spoke about the murder now, or at least that’s what Jim thought of it. In a way it felt like nothing had happened, that it had been another long, unproductive day where they had simply lazed around the house and smoked a copious amount of cigarettes till their heart’s content. But the occasional sniffs and uncomfortable twitching from Sebastian reminded Jim that the memories were still there, and they weren’t going to go away any time soon. Even though Joe was dead he was still haunting them both, and Sebastian Moran was clearly suffering the most from it.

“What are we gonna do now, Jim?”

The question came as a surprise, though Jim should have expected it to come at some point or other. He stepped back to give them both some air, before going to retrieve the rucksack that had been thrown under the bed, likely during a fit of rage from the night before. It had been discarded amongst a pile of stray clothes and old books, and the irishman had to use his strength in order to try and untangle the bag and retrieve it from the rest of the clutter under the bed. Once he had succeeded he set it down on top of the bed before rummaging around and subsequently pulling out the gun. He offered it to Sebastian to hold, who had immediately declined the offer.

“Be careful with that, it might still have bullets inside-“ Sebastian practically pleaded, only to be interrupted by a sharp ‘click’ as his housemate carefully opened the compartment of the gun, allowing the bullets to fall out until there were none left. Jim was grinning, much to Sebastian’s displeasure.

“You never answered my question.”

“About what?”

“About what we’re going to do. We can’t just stay here and pretend that nothing happened, and I can’t go back to work either- not yet at least.”

Jim sighed, tossing the handgun over to Sebastian who this time caught it, and clutched it immediately to his chest as if he was scared about somebody catching him with it. The irishman didn’t say much, his thoughts had distracted him once more as he made his way out of the bedroom and downstairs to collect his coat, simply hoping that Sebastian would take the subtle hint to follow him. And he did.

“Well first thing’s first we need to dispose of the gun,” he explained nonchalantly, slipping on his coat and zipping it up for good measure so that he would be at least some part protected from the snowfall. It was made of a horrible scratchy material and was red in colour - resembling a blob of ketchup. It didn’t do much of a good job at shielding Jim from the cold either, but he had never gotten around to replacing it, nor did he have the money to - which gave him an idea. Joe’s death didn’t necessarily have to be a one-time-only event, and if they wanted an easy way of making money then they could always consider…’extending’ their services. People would secretly be glad to pay a large sum of money just to get their enemies off of the streets and out of their lives, and judging by last night and Sebastian's past experiences he wasn’t a bad shot either.

“I thought about going down to the embankment,” Jim explained once he was all set up to leave, looking up to watch Sebastian wrestle with his own thick duffle coat. It looked extremely cosy, he was fairly jealous. “If we hide it in the Thames the I doubt anybody will find it, there are plenty of dead bodies in there anyway- Now hurry up, we ought to go before the snow gets any worse.”

Sebastian didn’t seem entirely convinced by the plan, but he nodded nevertheless and followed Jim out of the front-door. He would have said goodbye to Kirk, but it seemed like the little dog was still upstairs, ‘snoozing no doubt’ the older of the two thought. The flurry of snow was still light and pretty time, but Jim seemed to have underestimated just how cold the weather would be, uttering a rather-loud ‘fuck!’ As they left the house, gaining the attention of a few neighbours who looked over out of interest. Sebastian offered an apologetic smile, attempting to wave them away before he ushered Jim hastily down the street towards the direction of the River Thames.

“Here,” he grunted once they reached the end of the street, slipping off his own coat and outstretching it towards his counterpart. Jim gladly took it, exchanging his own ketchup-coloured coat with Sebastian before tugging on the oversized duffle coat. It was far too large for him and trailed down virtually to his feet, but just like he had suspected earlier it was so very cosy. “Be careful,” Sebastian added in a hushed voice as they picked up the pace once more, gesturing towards one of the pockets where the gun was hidden. “I know you took out the bullets but...Just be careful.”

Much to both men’s dismay, the snow had worsened significantly by the time that they reached the Thames. It was starting to fall a lot more thickly now, and it had even started to settle in certain areas on the pavement and roads. As a result, the usual London traffic seemed to have decreased a fair amount, allowing for a peaceful walk as they strolled alongside each-other.

“It never snows in London,” Sebastian, who was trying his best to conceal his shivering, spoke up thoughtfully as they reached a set of black railings separating them from the river below. The water looked cold and uninviting, and in that moment Jim didn’t particularly fancy swimming in it. But after the comment earlier in the day about the dead bodies, maybe it was just best to avoid swimming at all times of the year. Sebastian took Jim’s lead, climbing unsteadily over the railing before dropping down onto the embankment on the other side. There was only a small stretch of grit and mud before they reached the shore, so they both had to take a step back to prevent the water from splashing their shoes. 

“Did it used to snow when you lived in India?” Jim asked out of curiosity.

He grappled around with the handgun in the coat pocket, carefully pulling it out before practically launching it into the large body of freezing water. The gun spun momentarily in the air, offering a satisfactory splash as it crashed into the water and sunk down into the icy depths below. Sebastian came to stand next to Jim as the gun disappeared out of sight, slipping his own hand into the irishman’s and giving it a brief squeeze of encouragement. He silently prayed that this would be the last of their troubles, but with Jim now in his life he had a feeling that that was highly unlikely.

“Only in Darjeeling,” the taller man continued to explain as he reluctantly let go of Jim’s hand, pulling a face that implied that they should probably get out of there whilst they still could. If anybody was to spot them on the other side of the railings they’d be doomed. “Me and my friends would sometimes skip school and take the train there, we lived a few hours South.”

The irishman had become somewhat distracted by Sebastian’s tales of India, so much so that he had almost lost his balance whilst attempting to climb back over the railing and onto the high street. Sebastian stood a metre or so behind him just so that he could leap in in-case Jim was to fall, but thankfully no such thing happened, and the two of them eventually managed to scale the railing successfully back onto the pavement above. Noticing just how cold Sebastian had become, Jim decided to swap their coats back for the journey home just to prevent the taller man from quite literally freezing to death. At first Sebastian had been reluctant to accept it and had declined Jim’s offer, but after a few minutes he had given in and was more than pleased to be reunited with his winter coat again. As a compromise, for the journey home he had wrapped an arm around the shorter man’s waist in a feeble attempt to protect the both of them from the cold, and frankly Jim had ended up enjoying it a lot.

By the time they reached the house, the snowfall had thankfully calmed to a more reasonable level. As soon as they entered Jim took off his coat and attempted to coax any stray pieces of snow out of his hair, whilst Sebastian made a beeline straight towards the living room to light a fire in the fireplace. Moran was in noticeably much more of a good spirit than he had be that morning - and Jim put it down to the fact that the gun was no longer on his conscience. ‘It was a shame’ Jim had thought - they could have used the handy little gun for much more exciting feats in future, but he supposed if it made Sebastian happy then it was a weight lifted off of everybody’s shoulders.

Jim was more than delighted by the sight of the fire in the living room; it was a magnificent, roaring thing, with large red and yellow flames that flickered and rose higher and higher, and a bed of logs and coal which seemed to burn vigorously until they were nothing more than little deformed spectres. Much to Sebastian’s amusement, Jim had taken a seat directly in-front of the fire so that he could marvel at it in all of its glory, even if it meant stealing all of the warmth from the other members of the house. The irishman couldn’t remember ever owning a fireplace, not in any of the houses that he’d lived in prior. He put it down to his parents being short on money, which he supposed also explained the lack of Christmas presents that he had received as a little boy.

But now as he admired the fire there was a childlike wonder in his eyes, and Sebastian was forced to pull him away so that he didn’t get too close.

“Careful or you’ll end up burning yourself,” the taller man scolded playfully, stopping abruptly next to Jim as he observed him in virtual disbelief. “You act like you’ve never seen a fireplace before.”

Sebastian decided to take a seat so that he could join the other man in warming himself up, outstretching both of his palms and allowing the tall flames to warm them up for him. Jim did the same, smiling ever so slightly as the heat tickled his skin.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they? The flames I mean,” the irishman murmured softly, catching the attention of Sebastian who looked over in subsequent interest. Jim was still staring directly at the fire.

“Why’re you looking at the fire like that?”

Jim smiled.

“I don’t know, I just like it.”

That night, they did something which they hadn’t done since their first meeting. They had sex.

Jim tried to argue that technically this wasn’t their first time having sex, considering that on the night of their first meeting they had been extremely drunk and even he couldn’t remember what had happened exactly - but even if this wasn’t their first time then it was still certainly a lot more refreshing than it had been before. For Jim, sober sex was only a rarity, in-fact he couldn’t remember if he had ever had sex whilst _not_ under the influence in his lifetime.

And as subtle hands trailed across each-other’s skin and they became intertwined, it seemed to dawn on both of them just how meaningful this was; Sebastian’s hands in his hair and the firm grip on his thighs, the gentle moans of pleasure arising from them both, the adrenaline practically coursing through Jim’s veins.

Tired out from the day’s activities, Sebastian had simply decided to sleep it off. Jim didn’t feel tired, so he had just decided to stay and watch, secretly glad that the bedroom door was closed so that the little dog couldn’t come in abruptly and disturb them. Sebastian snored when he slept, something that amused the irishman greatly; he allowed his fingers to trail subconsciously across the sleeping man’s back as he laid there beside him, his skin was still hot to the touch and he could feel the man’s chest rising up and down every time he took a breath. Neither of them had bothered to redress, not even Sebastian whose arse could still be seen poking out from above the bedsheets.

But Sebastian looked so peaceful as he slept, so untroubled. It made a nice change from the restless night they had both endured previously, and Jim carefully outstretched a hand so that he could brush a few stray strands of Sebastian’s blond hair out of his face so that it wouldn’t disturb him.

The air was still, and the snow had stopped. The light outside had started to dim now, allowing for just another hour or so until they would be plunged into complete darkness. It gave Jim a final hour to rest and admire Sebastian, the way that the light tickled against his features as well as the scars that lined his chest. The scars looked old despite having not entirely healed, but they were so deep that Jim highly doubted that they would ever heal properly. He didn’t mind the scars so much, they reminded him of a tiger, of a beautiful, loyal beast tho prowled around the jungle searching for her kill. He wondered how Sebastian had acquired them in the first place, whether it had been a fault of his own or from somebody else’s hands.

Sebastian snored again, disrupting his chain of thoughts.

Jim sighed, curling up beside the blond as he nestled his head against his flank. He silently wondered if this was it, if this was a pact that they had both just unknowing sealed. They had just murdered a man and done a deal with the devil - sold their souls - so now it was just the two of them against the rest of the world. And oddly enough, Jim didn’t seem to mind too much. He closed his eyes, and decided to join Sebastian.


	11. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's behaviour takes a turn for the worst, meanwhile the hopes of a quiet Christmas are ruined by the arrival of two unexpected guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - brief mention of self-harm

The week leading up to Christmas had endured its fair share of good times, but most notably its bad times. The bad times seemed to revolve mostly around Jim, who had started to spiral significantly after the death of Joe.

It had been Sebastian who had first picked up on the rough scratch marks on the back of Jim’s hand; at first he had put it down to Kirk accidentally scratching the irishman, until a pattern of odd behaviour led him to think otherwise. Jim stopped coming down to breakfast in the mornings, which soon extended to lunch and dinner too. Sebastian’s biggest fear was that Jim had found a new dealer and was back on the drug path again, until one evening when he had gone upstairs to investigate he had walked in to find Jim with a bloodied pencil in his hand, and fresh cuts along the back of his skin. Sebastian couldn’t tell which was worse.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing with that pencil?”

Jim just grunted.

Sebastian didn’t think that he had ever seen Jim in such a state before; the drugs had been one thing but this was different, now Jim was actively trying to hurt himself. And that scared him. The pencil was still clasped firmly in Jim’s grasp and he showed no signs of letting go, almost like a stubborn toddler clutching to one of his toys. A part of Sebastian wondered if Jim could actually hear him properly, or whether he was simply lost in his own little trance.

“You’re bleeding, Jim.”

“I realised.”

So Jim could hear him then.

Sebastian stiffened and his fists clenched into a tight ball. Jim was mocking him, cruelly if anything. He was sat waving the bloody pencil around like it was some sort of magic wand, ‘ _a magic wand that could slit your veins if you press hard enough_ ’ Sebastian thought to himself. Jim only dropped the pencil after growing bored with it, and they both watched as it clattered onto the floor, before Jim kicked it under the table with his foot.

His eyes looked tired now, bloodshot too. Maybe he had been crying, but Sebastian couldn’t tell nor did he want to ask. He didn’t dare question James about it incase the other man screamed at him and ordered for him to leave in floods of tears.

Jim had become rather good at screaming as of late. And his main target was typically Sebastian.

‘ _You stupid fucking idiot, Moran!’_

_‘I hate you I hate you I hate you!’_

_‘I wish you would just die!’_

Truthfully the last insult stung more than the others, but Sebastian tried not to dwell on it. Jim was getting ill, he didn’t mean to say such horrible things. So for now he’d put on a brave face and deal calmly with the abuse that was hurled his way. But it was only a pencil, that was all. At least it hadn’t been a knife, or even a gun.

“Let me help clean you up, you’ve made a right mess,” the blond offered calmly, outstretching a tentative hand out to Jim as he attempted to smile.

Jim didn’t argue, he simply allowed Sebastian to lead him out towards the bathroom.

From then on it gradually started to get worse; Jim’s antics with sharp objects had only gotten more extreme, and the pair spent most nights huddled on the floor of the bathroom whilst Sebastian tried desperately to bandage up Jim’s wounds before they got infected.

 _“Will you kiss them better first?_ ” Jim always requested.

“ _Okay_.”

Sebastian hadn’t thought much about it at first, it was just Jim being Jim. The behaviour was abnormal but Jim Moriarty wasn’t a normal man, and Sebastian had simply been forced to accept that ever since Jim had moved in. He didn’t mind looking after the smaller man, it felt a bit like having a little brother to care for, the brother that Sebastian had always dreamt of.

One night, Jim had requested a bubble bath. It was an odd request, but surely enough the blond had spent the next ten minutes filling the bathtub with water and searching around for bubble bath mixture.

Once the bath had been prepared Jim undressed and got into the tub. Sebastian had planned on sitting on the floor to keep him company, until thanks to Jim’s demands he found himself sat awkwardly in the bath alongside the Irishman. The two of them didn’t fit, the bath was too small and the bubbles were already starting to spill out over the sides, but Jim said that he preferred it that way. 

“I want you to quit your job.”

Jim’s words were sudden and blunt. Sebastian’s head jolted upright in immediate surprise, causing even more water to spill over the top of the bathtub. Jim looked serious, and he couldn’t help but frown warily.

“Is this about Joe?”

“No this is about you quitting your job.”

Jim wasn’t smiling, so that meant this wasn’t one of his usual jokes. He hadn’t smiled properly for a while now, not since they had last had sex. Sebastian almost missed his smile, especially the shrill, gleeful laughter that always seemed to bounce around the house. Jim’s laughter had always been so infectious in those first few glorious weeks of living together, but not anymore. Now the house was just empty.

“But I don’t understand. Why else would you want me to quit my job?” Moran asked, fully aware that his temper was starting to wobble now. It was making the bath water tremble.

“Because theatre is stupid and a waste of time,” The Irishman explained without hesitation, leaning forward so that Sebastian could wash his hair with shampoo.

The blond did so obediently.

“Besides, you shouldn’t be stuck backstage for every performance... you should be _on_ the stage. _Our stage._ ”

Sebastian finished washing Jim’s hair, allowing his fingers to stroke through his black locks momentarily as he admired them. Jim’s dark hair contrasted with his pale skin reminded him somewhat of a magpie, although he had never told Jim that. It was rather beautiful, in-fact everything about Jim was beautiful. Apart from his personality, he had a dreadful personality.

The taller man clumsily got out of the tub before helping Jim out, sitting him down on the side of the bath before he pulled the plug and wrapped Jim up tightly in a towel.

“So this is about Joe then,” Sebastian affirmed with a sigh, his face crumpling a little in realisation.

Of course it was. The death had changed Jim, changed him for the worse. But even despite his screaming fits and episodes of self-harm Sebastian still loved him, and he’d give up his own life in a heartbeat if it meant saving Jim.

“It’s not just about Joe, it’s about me and you too,” Jim corrected him sternly. “Don’t be jealous.”

Sebastian noticed how Jim appeared to be scolding him, but it made sense considering that he was practically shivering with anger now. Sebastian tried to distract himself from flying off into a rage by helping Jim to dress into a clean pair of pyjamas that he had retrieved from the bedroom. He wasn’t quite sure why Jim wasn’t able to dress himself, but by the looks of it it was merely laziness.

“So let me get this straight, you want me to quit my job so that-“

“-So that you can focus on more important matters. Like the business.”

Jim got up, marching out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom. It had previously been Sebastian’s bedroom only, but since they had started sleeping together a few nights ago it appeared to have become a joint room, with Jim rarely even spending any time in the spare room anymore.

Sebastian hastily tugged on his boxers before deciding to follow; Kirk was fast asleep on the bed when they entered, looking rather frail and worn-out. The dog had been sleeping a lot more than usual lately and the blond found it bittersweet, he didn’t think that he was ready to say goodbye to his precious companion just yet.  
  
“But we don’t have a business, Jim,” Sebastian mumbled confusedly in response whilst Jim was busy fussing over what products to put in his hair.

Jim stopped what he was doing momentarily so that he could look over at the taller man with a smile. It was a smile that Sebastian hadn’t seen before, it was virtually emotionless.

“Give it time. I’m working on it.”

The majority of Christmas Eve had passed a blur, mainly because Sebastian had been so busy running errands that he hadn’t stopped to check what day it was. Jim’s mood had only gotten progressively worse, to the extent where Sebastian was now practically in charge of him entirely. He helped Jim to take baths, to get dressed, and tried his best to make sure that Jim ate all of his meals during the day. Although that last one was only a rarity. Life in the house was a lot quieter now whilst the mood was extremely solemn; not only was Jim getting worse but so was Kirk, and it would be a sheer miracle if the little dog made it through to the new year.

Sebastian had quit his job like Jim had instructed him to, but only because he needed to stay home and care for the smaller man. Despite his persistent questioning Jim still hadn’t said anything else about the ‘business’, and Sebastian was left feeling more isolated and bitter than ever.

It was around 8 o’ clock that evening when a knock sounded at the door.

Jim had been sat with Sebastian in the living room when the noise had come, a strange time for anybody to knock on the door - especially on a night like Christmas Eve. Jim had muttered something under his breath about carol singers, so reluctantly Sebastian had rummaged around in the drawer for some spare change before opening the front-door to greet them.

But they weren’t carol singers. In the cold stood two strangers; an older woman with long black hair, a little girl stood snivelling by her feet dressed in a pink polka-dot raincoat.

“Is James here?”

The older woman spoke with a strange sort of accent, it was scarily similar to Jim’s own Irish drawl apart from the fact it was a lot heavier. Sebastian surveyed the pair with a bewildered frown, but after spotting the familiar black hair and large brown eyes he realised with a pang of horror that they must be relatives of Jim’s, his mother and sister that he had spoken of so terribly in the past.

He knew that Jim would be furious about the unexpected visitors, but it was cold outside and the girl was only small and clearly shivering, so awkwardly Sebastian stepped aside and gestured a hand for them to come inside. Jim’s mother offered him a strained smile, before ushering her daughter into the hallway as the blond closed the door behind them.

The house was completely bare of any Christmas decorations or even a tree, and Sebastian could sense both the Moriartys’ disappointment as they both looked around the empty hallway, the little girl very prominently pouting her bottom lip.

“Sorry, we weren’t really expecting any visitors,” the man grunted apologetically, before he was interrupted by a trail of footsteps approaching the hallway.

Jim was stood in the doorway.

_“James, goodness you’ve grown-“_

“What are they doing here?” The irishman demanded fiercely, his expression now scrunched up with displeasure whilst all his mother could do was stare in disbelief at her eldest, estranged child. The little girl was hiding nervously behind her mother’s blouse. James and his mother made eye contact, which lingered for a few moments until his mother was the first to break away, raising her hand so that she could gently massage the chain of the cross around her neck.

Sensing the levels of tension in the air, Sebastian hastily cleared his throat.

“I’ll um… I’ll make tea,” he offered half-heartedly.

The three remaining family members trailed off into the living room when Sebastian disappeared off into the kitchen; Jim took up all of the room on the sofa so that nobody else could sit next to him, forcing his mother to resort to sitting on the armchair in the corner of the room with Jim’s little sister balanced carefully on her lap.

“Well, it’s been such a long time. I haven’t seen you since you were only-“

“How did you find me?”

Jim’s mother stopped abruptly, pursing her pale lips in dismay as the child in her lap squirmed around uncomfortably, clearly intimidated by the presence of her older brother.

“I don’t think this is the right time to discuss matters. Not whilst your sister is in the room.”

“I didn’t invite you here.”

“Well you never told me you were living with another man.”

Jim had started to snarl agitatedly from where he was sat on the sofa, much to his mother’s disgust. The little girl on her lap wouldn’t stop fidgeting, and finally she snapped frustratedly, scooping up the girl in her arms and placing her forcefully down onto the ground. Sebastian timed his arrival rather badly, and he re-entered with the tray of teacups just as the tension looked as though it was about to burst.

He set the tray down upon the table, surveying the uncomfortable expressions on everybody’s faces with a nervous smile.

“Why don’t you two have some alone time together. I can look after-“

“-Annabel,” Jim’s mother finished stiffly, clearing her throat as her attention was distracted from her son towards the blond instead. “Please. Thank you for the tea.”

Sebastian nodded, ushering the girl in the polka-dot coat out into the hallway before he lingered by the door. Before he left, he shot Jim a final glare; it was a glare that read as ‘be good’.

The instructions didn’t seem to have worked, because as soon as Sebastian had taken Annabel into the kitchen enraged shouting had broken out from the living room with both Jim and his mother screaming their heads off at each-other. The blond hastily closed the kitchen door in an attempt to offer some solace to the young girl, taking a seat at the table as she hid behind one of the chairs opposite.

“I like your name, it suits you,” the man mumbled hesitantly, a little unsure how to converse with the six-year-old. “My name’s Sebastian.”

He could just about see the girl grinning from behind her chair. Thank fuck for that.

“You talk funny.”

Annabel’s accent was just as heavy as her mother’s. It made Sebastian realise just how much Jim did stick out compared to the rest of his family. But Annabel Moriarty seemed…normal, just a shy six-year old girl dressed in a horrific amount of pink. The same couldn’t be said about Jim’s mother - Sebastian had spotted the way she was clutching to the cross around her neck. But he had always wanted kids, especially a daughter.

Annabel Moriarty came out from behind her hiding place, and offered a lopsided smile.

“So then Annabel Moriarty, how come you’re here on Christmas Eve? Shouldn’t you be waiting at home for Father Christmas?” Sebastian asked gently.

“…’Cause Ralf keeps drinking too much an’ he hurt Mammy again.”

Sebastian felt his stomach knot in discomfort. His throat went dry. By the way the girl was speaking she didn’t seem to quite understand the situation, or at least she didn’t seem at all phased by it.

“Oh.”

“Ralf is Mammy’s new boyfriend. The last one stole our telly an’ ran away. We had t’ buy a new one. He made Mammy cry.”

Sebastian’s face went instantly rigid, and he got up to offer the small girl a hug. The hug only lasted for a brief few seconds, as soon enough an almighty crash had sounded from the living room, accompanied by that of a woman’s scream.

Sebastian had been the first to race to the living room after sternly ordering Annabel to stay put. He burst open the door, only to be greeted by the sight of Jim’s mother sprawled out on the carpet. Jim was stood hunched over her, forehead drenched in sweat with the table-lamp clutched tightly in his grip.

The back of his mother’s head was covered in blood. So was the bottom of the lamp.


	12. One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year has passed. Jim finds himself in counselling.

Sebastian Moran celebrated his twenty-fourth birthday in the summer.

They hadn’t had much of a celebration; Jim was having one of his ‘good days’ so he had presented Sebastian with a tray of cupcakes from the local supermarket. The cupcakes were covered in blue frosting and the irishman had even stuck a striped candle on the top of one to make them extra special. The cupcakes tasted of cheap cardboard but they had devoured them anyway.

Jim had also gifted Sebastian with two tickets; the blond had been talking ecstatically about a specific theatre production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream for weeks now, so Jim had searched around and managed to get them two tickets for closing night. He still hated Shakespeare, but it was Sebastian’s birthday so he was on his best behaviour.

“Isn’t that the one about the donkey person?” Jim asked curiously as he ate the last cupcake, the blue frosting now smeared around his lips.

He had offered it to Sebastian since it was his birthday, but the blond declined and promised Jim that he could have it instead since he had been the one to buy them after all.

“His name’s Bottom,” Sebastian corrected him firmly.

“Don’t be so vulgar, Sebastian.”

They were both alone in the house now. Kirk had died a few months prior, just after New Years. They buried his ashes in a little box underneath the flowerbeds; Sebastian had cried and Jim had given a small speech as a means of giving a final farewell to the beloved pet. The day itself had been rather solemn and Jim didn’t think that he had ever seen Sebastian cry so much before, but in a way he supposed it was a relief that Kirk was finally gone. Within a few weeks the garden was already back to normal again, and the once-bare plot of earth that the dog had been buried under was filled to the brim with flowers to the point where it was barely recognisable anymore.

Neither Sebastian or Jim had spoken about Jim’s mother since Christmas, and things were better that way. Annabel Moriarty had gone to live with her aunt in Kilkenny, whilst Jim’s mother was buried beside Jim’s father in the nearby cemetery. Jim had never been to visit, though Sebastian had gone secretly on the odd one or two occasions simply because he felt partly-responsible for her death. He spent hours at a time sitting by the headstones, chiding the dead woman for how terribly she had treated her own poor son, and blaming Jim’s father for not having protected Jim enough when he was smaller.

The blond often left the cemetery feeling hot and irritable, and treated himself to a smoke or a quick pint at the Golden Fox before heading home to see Jim.

It was a few days after his birthday when Sebastian had gone out - first to the cemetery to pay his usual visit before heading to the pub to catch up with some old friends from work. He had suggested for Jim to come along with him and have a pint, but the irishman had been so preoccupied with his laptop that he hadn’t even heard, so Sebastian had just slammed the door and left.

Usually Sebastian would have worried about leaving Jim alone in the house by himself, but earlier that morning the other man had informed the blond that he would be having ‘guests over’. Despite his avid curiosity Sebastian still hadn’t bothered to ask. It was probably about the business.

That damned fucking business.

According to Jim things were going well; five months ago he had hired out an old office building in Westminster to hold meetings, using the stolen money from his mother’s will to pay for it. The office block was only small and had been in dire need of refurbishment, so Sebastian had gotten a temporary job at a butcher’s shop so that he could help pay for new carpets as well as a new set of furniture. Jim had been thrilled, and they had used the leftover money to treat themselves to a steak dinner that night before going home to enjoy a night of inevitable passion.

They had a new team now too. At first Sebastian had been highly sceptical; there was a department for IT, even a department for foreign relations, but the department that frightened Sebastian the most was the sector of snipers - all handpicked specially by James. A man named Wellington was in charge of the sector, a cold-tempered snob who Jim had plucked straight from the rank of captain in the British Army.

Sebastian had never liked him, even from the off start. Jim had scoffed at the revelation and pinpointed it straight to jealousy, just because Wellington was stronger than Sebastian and often told wondrous stories about the war in Afghanistan, but that had only caused a fight between them both and resulted in the older of the two storming out of the house. From then on Wellington remained in charge, and even when Jim came home from the office with a stupid grin on his face informing Sebastian that another five people were now dead, Sebastian simply forced a smile and offered a half-hearted: ‘Good job, James’.

And as each day passed Jim’s moods were getting worse - as well as Sebastian’s hatred of the business which was growing by the second.

That week Jim had been spending an increased amount of time in the office, far longer than even Sebastian deemed necessary. According to the shorter man the Russians were at it again, the same buggers that they had already had already meddled with the business a few months ago. They were a relentless bunch, but according to Jim this time they were posing as a major threat to the IT department.

 _‘Hackers apparently, and very good ones too,’_ the man had informed Sebastian scornfully one night whilst they were laying on top of the bed together in their underwear.

Sebastian still wasn’t entirely convinced that Jim wasn’t just shagging Wellington behind his back.

The blond had tried warning Jim on numerous occasions that getting involved with the Russians would be a far too risky business, but as per usual Jim hadn’t listened and had gone ahead with his own plans regardless. A Code 17 had subsequently been announced, and Wellington and the rest of the snipers had been deployed to Moscow to dismantle the threat. Jim remained at the office throughout it all whilst waiting eagerly for their return, whilst Sebastian had been left at home by himself. Again.

_[ Russians are dead. Be home soon. JM ]_

Jim returned home triumphantly like a soldier returning from the war the very same morning. He and Sebastian had shared a packet of cigarettes whilst Jim showed off some photographs of the now-dismembered Russians and boasted about how well things had gone. The photographs had left Sebastian feeling rather ill, and even though he didn’t particularly agree with what Jim was saying he couldn’t exactly say ‘no’ to the smaller man. He had already refused Jim’s offer of getting a role in the business himself on numerous different occasions, and if did anything else to further upset the irishman then he didn’t know what catastrophe might occur as a result.

Sebastian had assumed that their little victory would be enough to keep Jim’s spirits high for a while, though he had quickly been proven wrong before the sun had even had a chance to set.

That evening, Jim suffered another one of his bad spells.

This time, Sebastian didn’t know what had caused it. Usually Jim’s episodes had a reasoning behind them - whether they were due to bad memories regarding his family or because of mounting pressures on the business. Sebastian was no stranger to comforting Jim after his frequent night terrors or bursts of hysteria, but the sight of Jim trying to drown himself in a freezing-cold bathtub had been the final straw. James’ behaviour was out of Sebastian’s control.

The hospital they were taken to this time was different from the one that Jim had visited shortly before Joe’s death.

This hospital was far larger than the previous one had been, with several different floors and dozens of doctors who wouldn’t stop pestering you. Sebastian had tried explaining that this hospital was a specialist one, not that Jim had been paying any attention. Still furious at Sebastian for having rescued him from the bath, Jim had taken up a vow of silence so that he didn’t have to speak to the traitor anymore. They were on the fourth floor of the hospital; Jim was sat on top of one of the ward beds, an orange blanket draped loosely over his torso and a hot water bottle rested comfortably against his stomach which the nurses had brought over despite his protests. Since Jim still wasn’t speaking Sebastian had decided to stretch his legs and go discuss matters one of the nurses, and he returned around ten minutes later with a drained smile.

“Well?”

“Do you want the good news or bad news first?”

Jim scrunched up his face in dismay.

“The good news,” the irishman decided promptly.

“Well, since your body temperature is back to normal they’re thinking about discharging you tomorrow.”

“And the bad news?”

“The nurses think you should go somewhere else, Jim. Not home, somewhere where they can look after you properly.”

“Another hospital?”

Sebastian nodded, and Jim’s face fell instantly in realisation.

“Oh.”

The blond had expected the other man to immediately erupt into a fighting protest, however he considered what had actually happened to be much worse. Jim didn’t shout, and he didn’t protest, he simply complied. They shared a long embrace and Jim had even allowed the taller man to play with his hair. When the nurses had finished their nightly rounds then they had both slept together in the same bed, with Jim whispering firm instructions to Sebastian to look after the business whilst he was away.

Then by the next morning Jim was already gone.

“Full name?”

“James Moriarty.”

“Right, James. Shall we begin?”

One month, that was all. Even Sebastian had been positively thrilled by the news when he had come to visit Jim on the first week, bringing with him a bouquet of flowers and a book on Bonnie and Clyde that he knew Jim would like.

On their visits together they didn’t talk much about life in hospital. Sebastian had asked on multiple occasions but each time Jim simply shrugged it off and quickly changed the subject. Jim’s room had a view of the street below, and had been virtually bare upon arrival. Since his stay was only temporary he hadn’t been allowed to decorate, not that he would have wanted to anyway, however a stack of books sat firmly on his bedside table for him to read - the majority having been gifted to him by Sebastian as a measly way of apologising for the mess they were both in.

The visits were only twenty-minutes long each time; some days they walked the grounds and talked about trivial nonsense, whilst other days they would sit in Jim’s room on the window ledge and throw scrunched up balls of paper at the passers-by down below. On one of Sebastian’s last visits Jim had apologised to him, and the blond had apologised in return. Jim liked to think that they had called a truce, and the rest of the visit had been spent cuddling on the bed until a nurse had arrived and subsequently kicked Sebastian out.

But as the business grew more hectic and became harder to manage, Sebastian’s visits started to become less and less frequent, until one day he had stopped coming altogether. Jim would have been lying if he said that he didn’t miss the stupid brute, however he kept forcing himself to rely on the fact that he’d be out soon, all he had to do was hang on for another few weeks.

Although there was one person who Jim simply couldn’t stand. The therapist.

She wasn’t exactly old, she was the around the same age that his own mother had been, but that meant that she certainly wasn’t young either. On their first session together she had introduced herself as just Kelly, and judging by her accent Jim could tell that she was from somewhere around Huddersfield. Just Kelly was a tall woman, with short greying hair and light red streaks from where she had evidently tried and failed to die it. Her fingernails had been painted a similar shade of red to match the streaks in her hair, and her voice carried a sense of fierce determination with it.

On the first session he had been taken down the corridor from his room to a smaller, more private space with two leather chairs and a tin of biscuits waiting for them on the middle table. Jim had taken a chocolate biscuit for himself, and they had begun:

“How do you spell Kelly?”

“I need you to focus, James. We can talk about spelling later.”

Jim had nodded disappointedly, and taken another biscuit for himself.

“How are you feeling today?” The therapist asked again.

“Hungry,” the man responded calmly, taking a large bite from the biscuit before proceeding to munch on it thoughtfully.

The woman sighed tiredly, watching the man before her polish off the rest of the biscuit before oddly he smiled.

“…But apart from that I’m feeling good. I’ve been reading all about Bonnie and Clyde.”

The session had lasted for around forty minutes, and they had only stopped after the woman had noticed Jim’s increasingly restlessness. He had headed back to his room that morning with a smug smile on his face and his lips smothered in remaining biscuit crumbs. For the first time that week Jim was feeling good about himself, _really_ good in-fact. He was beginning to look forward to his discharge even more, and oh he couldn’t wait to tell Sebastian all about it.


	13. Fourth Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst Jim is in hospital, Sebastian finds himself in charge of the business.

The closest Sebastian had ever been to being in charge of something had been back when he was in cub-scouts as a child. He had been appointed as leader of his pack during a particularly memorable camping trip one summer - a very proud moment for any nine-year-old boy.

The camping trip had been to the countryside, around two hours from where the blond had lived in Oxford; Sebastian had helped his group to set up their tents, build fires, and even learn to navigate a compass. Then at the end of the week he had been awarded a brand new scout badge - his complete pride and joy which his mother had sewn onto the sleeve of his uniform the following night. 

He still had his old badges somewhere, probably in the box under the bed with the rest of his childhood belongings. Jim had found the box of memorabilia a few weeks ago and offered to sell them, but Sebastian had quickly objected. Maybe it was just sentiment messing with his emotions.

He had decided to walk to Jim’s office that morning instead of taking a cab like he usually would have. The blond had been caught in the midst of a downpour on his way, resulting in him turning up to the office drenched head to toe in rainwater. The piece of paper in his coat-pocket had also been soaked by the rain - it had been a carefully handwritten note from Jim explaining to Sebastian what time he needed to arrive and who precisely he needed to visit, there was even a scruffy drawing on the back of the paper containing directions to each of the different floors and rooms. Jim’s suite was on the fourth floor - Sebastian had been given very stern instructions not to go there under any circumstances.

The office building was only small, but the interior certainly made up for it; the whole place had been repainted and carpeted to the point where it was virtually unrecognisable, and a set of glass lifts were stationed in the middle of the ground floor to transport Jim’s employees up to the numerous different floors. It took Sebastian a few minutes to navigate everything, but when he finally stepped inside the lift he still had the soggy map held outstretched in his hands - according to Jim’s drawing there was a conference being held on the third floor with some potential sponsors from China, and Jim had made sure to add in bold that it was _very_ important. It seemed as though he was alone for the time-being, so the blond hastily tucked the piece of paper back into his pocket again, and pressed the button for the third floor.

The doors closed, and Sebastian soon found himself ascending in the glass box.

They passed the first floor, where a large group of men and women all sat huddled around endless rows of computers, and Sebastian figured that they must be part of the IT department. They appeared extremely focused on something, and Sebastian had wandered over to the edge of the glass to try and catch a glimpse of what they might be working on, but before he had even had a chance the lift had ascended further, before suddenly coming to a halt at the second floor.

The doors opened, but this time a single figure stepped inside. Sebastian instantly recognised the stuck-up nose and the shaven brown hair.

“Wellington.”

“Moran.”

Sebastian outstretched his hand courteously, but the sniper had merely ignored it and instead moved past him so that he could press the button for the fourth floor. The light on the number four immediately lit up, and the doors closed once more. The blond felt a knot in his stomach.

“Forgive me, I think you must be mistaken. The fourth floor is restricted.”

“Restricted by who exactly?”

“…Jim said so.”

Wellington raised an eyebrow.

“Jim?”

“Moriarty. Sorry.”

The lift eventually came to a halt at the third floor and the door opened, but this time Sebastian felt no desire to leave. Not whilst the other man was still inside. He placed a foot firmly across the threshold to prevent the doors from closing, before looking cautiously back towards Wellington again. The sniper must have sensed Sebastian’s annoyance, because he couldn’t help but utter a low chuckle.

Sebastian pulled his foot away from the exit and the doors quickly shut again; the lift rumbled menacingly as they made their way up to the fourth floor. ‘ _The sponsors can wait,’_ Sebastian tried reassuring himself, but he still had a horrible feeling that Jim was going to murder him regardless. Wellington said nothing until the lift doors opened again.

The fourth floor was different from the rest of the building For starters the whole floor was covered in large windows, allowing for a perfect view of Big Ben and the River Thames which ran below them. The walls were hung with various large, provocative portraits, and Sebastian couldn’t help but notice a painting of the Taj Mahal displayed proudly amongst them all.

He smiled faintly to himself, Jim always seemed to enjoy his tales of India.

The rest of the floor was self explanatory; a desk and chair sat facing the view of Big Ben, piled high with likely-unfinished paperwork, as well as a red leather sofa which Jim probably used as a temporary bed for when his lack of sleep inevitably caught up with him.

“So what brings you here then? I heard rumours that you’d be the one to take over temporarily… I’d hoped they weren’t true.”

Wellington had already set off towards Jim’s desk, and with a growl of irritability Sebastian stalked after him. This was more like an invasion of Jim’s privacy, and it didn’t sit at all well with him.  
  
“What are you doing up here?” The blond questioned bluntly, completing ignoring Wellington’s last question. “Surely you and I should both be downstairs with the sponsors.”

They both stopped, their gazes drifting down towards the river below.

The sniper’s gaze drifted up towards the Houses of Parliament, and Sebastian couldn’t help but frown as he observed him. His expression was solemn, and his eyes were fixed on Big Ben as the dull chimes of midday sounded.

“Something’s going to happen,” Wellington announced simply, his attention snapping away from the clock tower as instead he waved Sebastian to join him by Jim’s desk. Before Sebastian even had a chance to stop him, the sniper had begun to rummage aggressively through Jim’s drawers.

The tiger let out a low growl.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? That’s private information you can’t just-“

“Those aren’t sponsors on the third floor, Sebastian.”

The use of his first-name caught Sebastian off guard and he wobbled uneasily, until Wellington suddenly retrieved some papers from the drawer and shoved them forcefully into his palm.

“Moriarty said you might not get it. He did leave clues before his departure.”

“Is this a test?”

Wellington smiled. Sebastian wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid grin off of his face.

But regardless he turned his attention down towards the papers in his hands; there was a map of the city displayed on the first, with red dots pinpointed to specific buildings - and Jim’s office happened to be one of them. Immediately Sebastian’s face crumpled in dissatisfaction, and he moved on to the next paper. This time there was no map or diagram, but instead a messy, handwritten letter addressed to Jim himself. But it was written in Chinese so Wellington hastily snatched it back so that he could translate. Sebastian watched him irritably, convinced that it was merely just a means of showing off.

“Moriarty was well-aware that they were coming, it seems like he had it planned out especially for you. I wouldn’t put it past him,” the sniper sighed, outstretching the note so that he could read it properly. “…They’ve been after the business for a while now, interested in the money apparently. The boss reckons they’ve been plotting something.”

Wellington placed the papers back in the drawer, closing it for good measure. When he looked up again he spotted Sebastian staring out of the window once more, and he cautiously proceeded to tap the blond on the shoulder to gain his attention.

“I don’t understand,” Sebastian admittedly truthfully, a flustered frown creasing his brow as his fingers gently massaged the bridge of his nose. “You’re saying there’s going to be violence?”

“I’m saying you ought to go down there and see for yourself,” Wellington responded calmly, pulling away as he instructed for Moran to follow him over to a row of cabinets besides Jim’s desk.

Despite his reluctance, Sebastian followed behind him, coming to a stop as Wellington crouched down and opened the door to one of the cabinets. He soon found what he wanted and let out a delight hum, removing a semi-automatic gun from one of the shelves and offering it to Sebastian. Sebastian recoiled at once, but Wellington seemed adamant.

“Believe me when I say they’ll be armed. You’ll want to defend yourself.”

The gun left a horrible taste in Sebastian’s mouth, with the image of Joe’s body still deeply ingrained into his conscious, but after the other man shot him another glare he finally accepted it. The sniper seemed to relieved as he handed the gun over, patting his pocket where his own semi automatic was tucked away for safekeeping.

“Are you coming too?”

“Obviously. Somebody’s got to be there to save your skin.”

Sebastian managed a small smile, and Wellington smiled in return.

The journey in the lift was only short, and when the doors opened they were greeted at once by the sight of the sponsors sat waiting for them on the other side of the wall. Moran deliberated momentarily, until Wellington gave him a slightly-forceful nudge and they started to walk together towards the meeting room.

“I know you’re jealous of me,” Wellington declared out-of-the-blue as they walked, and Sebastian instantly gritted his teeth to stop himself from snapping. But the sniper’s smile was now wider than ever, and Sebastian’s confusion seemed to overtake his anger.

“…I have a wife and a kid, another one on the way. The boss has told me all about you, believe me when I say I don’t want to intrude on you both.”

Wellington stopped just before reaching the door, fumbling around in his pocket before eventually pulling out his wallet. Displayed inside was a photo of a young girl, with wild brown hair and a giddy smile. The sniper’s thumb brushed warmly across the edge of the photograph, before he placed it quickly back into his pocket again.

“That’s my Maisie. She’s my rock, she starts school today… The baby’s due in just under four months now, according to the scans it’s another girl.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want a boy.”

“Oh I know.”

Both mens’ smiles faded as soon as they set foot inside the room and came face to face with the four sponsors, all of whom were staring at them impatiently. One of the men, the one who Sebastian presumed to be the oldest, got to his feet.

“Which one of you is Moriarty?”

Sebastian could feel Wellington’s stern gaze on the back of his neck making his skin prickle, so with a scornful sigh he outstretched his hand.

“That would be me.”

They both shook hands, and everybody took a seat, apart from Wellington who had taken up a firm stance by the door. Sebastian could see why Jim had hired such a man to be his bodyguard, he was rather intimidating at the best of times.

“Well, Mister Moriarty, I think it’s best if we begin. We’re already behind schedule.”

Sebastian could sense the tension in the room, not that it was very subtle in the slightest. The sponsors all took their turns to speak, and the blond listened without having even having the faintest of clues of what they were talking about. And even when he did eventually begin to speak, he was distracted by how restless all four of the men seemed, how they were all practically poised ready to strike.

Sebastian wasn’t quite sure what had triggered it, but within a few mere minutes each of them were up on their feet, brandishing their guns at Moran who had pulled out his handgun in return. ‘ _Just another day in the life of Jim Moriarty,’_ he cursed to himself.

Wellington, who was still stood by the door, had fired the first shot - and soon enough everybody had followed suit.

Gunshots rang out across the room, and Sebastian had immediately hunched over before attempting to fire back. He didn’t check to see whether or not anybody had been struck, blind panic had quickly set in and he found himself shooting at virtually anything that moved. A shout came from the other side of the room, followed by another, which meant that two of them had been undoubtably wounded.

Wellington had already left to demand for backup, and Sebastian reloaded and continued to shoot alone. He was still attempting to catch the last bugger when he heard heavy footsteps approaching the suite, and he had stopped shooting, assuming that it was Wellington and the rest of the back-up here to take over and finish the job.

Voices sounded, though he quickly realised that none of them belonged to Wellington let alone any other of the snipers that Jim had recruited. The last sponsor had used the distraction as a scapegoat to try and flee, though as Sebastian went to shoot he was met with an empty click instead of a bullet firing. Fuck. The man successfully scrambled away, and for a moment the blond could’ve sworn that he heard Jim’s voice taunting him in his head.

_'Silly boy, Tiger. You let him get away.'_

Sebastian’s heart was pounding so vigorously now that his blood was coursing through his veins, making it virtually impossible to think straight. He had killed people, killed people on purpose this time and not just by a freak accident. The blond’s head was erupting with so many thoughts and emotions that he feared he might just malfunction and combust, and the sight of the group of strangers running towards him weren’t helping his frantic state either. But they didn’t teach you this in the cub-scouts or cadets, you didn’t get a special badge just for murdering another person in cold-blood. Cub-scouts also didn’t teach you how to protect yourself from highly-skilled Chinese rogues, so when the sharp blow came to the back of Sebastian’s head, he was completely defenceless.


	14. Deputy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst in recovery, Sebastian receives a new job offer.

“Oh come on. Don’t be mad.”

The blood dripping from Sebastian’s nose was still hot, and he couldn’t help but grunt in pain as Wellington applied the wet towel to his face.

Jim was sat beside the two men, observing them both thoughtfully. The three men were all accompanied by the synthetic sound of the Pet Shop Boys drifting from the stereo across the room. The noise wasn’t helping Sebastian’s headache or lack of sleep at all, but Jim had claimed that he was ‘in the mood to listen to music’ so neither Moran nor Wellington had dared to dispute it.

“Two days. They captured me and tortured me relentlessly for for two whole days.”

“You have to admit it’s quite funny.”

They were back in Jim’s suite on the fourth floor again, this time Sebastian was sprawled out on the sofa whilst Wellington attempted to clean up his wounds, with Jim perched on the arm of the sofa beside them both with a smile.Sebastian had been collected earlier that morning from where he had been held captive; Wellington and the rest of the boys had been sent out to complete the dirty work, and soon enough they had returned carrying with them a half-conscious Moran, drenched in sweat and blood and unable to string together more than a few words at a time. Jim had been positively thrilled at the sight.

Jim was out of hospital now, and had been for a few days. His cuts were beginning to heal and he seemed far cheerier than he had been before, although that was a large contrast from Sebastian’s tired, bitter demeanour.

The blond was still recovering from his injuries; he had obtained them whilst being locked up, their suspicions had been right about the potential clients - according to Jim they were notorious crooks, all part of a much larger organisation in the heart of Shanghai. The news hadn’t fared particularly well with Sebastian, whose face was now swollen and covered in large angry bruises, his nose broken and now more crooked than it had been prior. He was dressed in a loose t-shirt and boxer shorts, and Jim couldn’t help but admire him dotingly as he balanced a punnet of strawberries on his lap.

“They were assassins, darling. Not sponsors. I searched them up earlier, they’ve got branches all across China and the rest of the world,” The irishman informed him, plucking a strawberry from the punnet and taking a small, thoughtful bite.

“Since when have you called me darling?”

“Since just now. I’m testing it out, what do you think?”

Sebastian merely grunted in response, and Wellington moved to the wet towel up to his forehead to try and cool him down slightly. The blond flinched immediately at the touch whilst Wellington was forced to try and calm him, all whilst Jim’s beady eyes were still fixed on them both.

“Go easy on him, I think his nose is still broken,” the Irishman instructed Wellington firmly. “Is there anything you can do to fix it?”

The sniper looked up towards Jim uneasily.

“I can try and break it back into place I suppose?” He offered with uncertainty, causing Jim to smile at once as he polished off the remainder of the strawberry.

“Yes, do that.”

Wellington did as he was told; a loud crunch sounded, accompanied by a horrified whimper from Sebastian who was practically writhing around on the sofa. Some more blood had started to spurt from his nostrils, so Wellington tried his best to clean it up, although Jim didn’t appear to be too sympathetic regarding the blond’s evident agony.

“Now stop whining and open wide.”

Jim popped a strawberry into Sebastian’s mouth before he could protest any further, and patted the top of his head like a dog.

Reluctantly Sebastian finished chewing on the red fruit before swallowing it, eventually opening his eyes again and forcing himself up into a sitting position. The pain was most noticeably around his torso, and the scar was there to prove it. Sebastian couldn’t recall exactly what had happened, but according to Wellington when the team had arrived they had found his missing kidney in a metal dish on the table, and upon arriving back in London Sebastian had been prescribed bedrest with no exceptions.

A pale orange glow was flooding through the windows in the suite, casting warm spots of light onto the floor as they danced around blissfully. Wellington had been the one to break the silence, mainly because Jim was still busy feeding Sebastian strawberries.

“May I go, boss?”

“Is this about the missus?” Jim yawned dismissively, still in the midst of wiping Sebastian’s mouth with a napkin. The blond had argued that he could use the napkin perfectly fine by himself, but Jim had simply ignored him.

“She hasn’t been feeling well the past few days. I ought to go home and check on her and the baby.”

“If you must.”

Jim waved a hand to signal that the sniper could leave, and eagerly Wellington got up before scurrying out of the room. The low rumble of the lift sounded as he departed the fourth floor, and Jim and Sebastian were left alone once more.

The irishman got to his feet, moving to collect some pillows for Sebastian from the cupboard by his desk. Jim’s men weren’t scheduled to take them back home until tomorrow morning, and since Sebastian was in no fit condition to walk just yet they had turned Jim’s office suite into a makeshift bedroom for the night.

Jim soon returned, this time carrying with him two large pillows.

“Hold still,” Jim instructed sternly, lifting up Sebastian’s head carefully so that he could slot the pillows underneath. The blond had ignored his instructions and continued to fidget and whimper regardless.

“I don’t know how he copes,” the irishman continued once he had finished setting Sebastian up for the long night ahead. “…I hate babies.”

“Not all of us are like you, James. Wellington has a good family, he treats them well.”

“Since when have you two been friends? I thought you despised each-other.”

Sebastian offered a lazy smile in return, closing his eyes as attempted to make himself as comfortable as he could on the sofa. Although in hindsight it wasn’t very comfortable at all. Jim came to curl up beside him, resting his head beside Sebastian’s legs as he too closed his eyes. The room was still for a moment. It had been a long day.

“Maybe we should adopt one day,” Sebastian whispered, his voice trailing off so that the room grew silent once more.

“Don’t talk out of your arse. Go to sleep.”

It was almost noon when they arrived home the following day, tired and dishevelled. They had meant to leave the office earlier that morning, but Sebastian had taken a funny turn during the night and the private doctor that Jim had spoken to on the phone advised that they stay put until Sebastian’s condition improved.

Wellington had been the one to drop them back to Kensington, along with Nadia - another one of Jim’s trusted snipers. Initially Sebastian had declined any support, though it had taken a joint effort from both Wellington and Nadia to get him up the stairs and back into bed again. They hadn’t dwelled for too long, not wanting to invade their boss’s privacy, and once they had disappeared Jim had entered shortly afterwards brandishing a tray of tea and toast.

“It’s not often that you bring me breakfast in bed.”

“Yeah well don’t get used to it.”

Sebastian wriggled up into a sitting position, snatching a piece of toast from the tray and buttering it eagerly. His stomach offered a rumble of content before the blond attempted to practically shovel the whole thing into his mouth. The last time Jim had brought him breakfast in bed had been on the morning of their first anniversary, and even then it had only been a packet of Jammie Dodgers to share between them.

“Slow down or you’ll choke,” Jim snapped irritably, swatting Sebastian sternly on the side of the leg before coming to lay down next to him.

He himself wasn’t particularly hungry, he had already had his breakfast that morning - even if it just consisted of nibbling on a packet of chocolate creams from the kitchen cupboard. He hadn’t told Sebastian, full-well knowing that the taller man would scold him over it, though Jim’s peculiar eating habits had always managed to rile Sebastian up ever since they had first moved in together.

Sebastian Moran was always worrying about something.

“Do you know why I asked you to take charge of the business whilst I was away, ‘Bastian?” Jim questioned thoughtfully, waiting for Sebastian to demolish the remainder of his toast.

“Can’t say I do,” Moran admitted truthfully, brushing any lingering crumbs from his lips as he instinctively attempted to roll over to join Jim. It was only then that he was reminded of the pain burning through his lower-body, and he was forced to retreat.

“…Unless you purposely wanted me hurt. Then I think I’d have to take a step back from the relationship to reevaluate things.”

Jim rolled his eyes, and Sebastian could sense that he was becoming more impatient by the second. Even though he was still a wounded man, that didn’t stop the irishman from giving him a forceful nudge, and immediately Sebastian cried out in pain.

“Think, brainiac,” Jim instructed firmly.

His tone was still playful, though Sebastian hadn’t enjoyed the shove very much.

“The business is getting bigger, I’m even thinking of rebranding it,” the smaller man continued regardless, despite his counterpart not having said a word.

“Rebrand it to what?” Sebastian croaked finally. “‘Jim Moriarty’s top secret criminal lair’? It doesn’t sound very catchy.”

“I’m thinking of something shorter. Maybe the network.”

‘The network’. _Jim’s_ network. It had a nice ring to it at least. Sebastian managed a tiny glimpse of a smile as he played the name over in his head, trying to imagine what it might sound like. It was scary to think how far they had come, and even scarier to think how much bigger their new ’network’ was going to grow.

And then it dawned on Sebastian.

“You’re asking me if I want to join or not?”

A large, childlike grin spread immediately at Jim’s lips, the words were music to his ears.

“It wasn’t a question,” he corrected him. “But yes, I’m offering you a position, this time as deputy.”

“You want me to become one of your snipers?”

“I thought I made that very clear.”

Jim’s reply made Sebastian chuckle ever so slightly, yet it still wasn’t enough to shake away the feelings of uncertainty running through his mind. For the previous year or so he had been adamant against joining, so determined that he wouldn’t be one of those killing machines that Jim had trained. But now time had moved on, and things were different; Sebastian wasn’t the blissful theatre technician that he had once been, and they were both older now. Even though it frightened him he had still killed people, _multiple_ people in-fact. He was just about as innocent as the irishman next to him was.

Damn James. Why did he have to be so persuasive?

“When do I start?”

Jim didn’t seem too surprised by Sebastian’s question, he had merely smiled. Maybe he had known the answer all along, like a fortune teller that you would find at the fair. But Jim’s brain was extremely mathematical - and he was certainly no stranger to a bit of probability.

“Atta boy. We’ll have to wait until you’re better, obviously. I can’t have you losing another kidney,” James chimed, lifting up the bottom of Sebastian’s shirt so that he could admire the damage.

The scar was still there, red and angry. Jim allowed his finger to trail over it slowly, only to earn a dissatisfied grunt from Sebastian.

He could see the other scars now, the ones which trailed around Sebastian’s back and chest just like bold tiger stripes. The blond must have noticed because he started to fidget uncomfortably, so Jim decided to avert his eyes simply out of respect, as much as he secretly wanted to keep looking. He had joked about the scars on Sebastian’s chest before, only once; Sebastian had flown into a rage and punched a hole in the kitchen wall, they had camped out in A&E all throughout the night waiting to get stitches. Neither Jim or Sebastian had spoken to each-other at all the following day after the incident, not until Sebastian had come down for a smoke late that evening and mumbled the simple answer ‘family.’ Jim understood at once. They hadn’t spoken about it since.

“I’ve had my eye on the Serbians for a while now. Rumour has it they’ve got a mole feeding them classified information, they’re based somewhere around the capital apparently,” Jim continued once he had let go of Sebastian’s shirt and allowed it to fall back into place again. The light material tickled his skin, and the blond hummed delightedly in return.

“It sounds like you’re treating me to a nice holiday.”

“I never said I was cruel.”

Sebastian chuckled quietly, enough to make his whole body ache with pain once more. Jim could spot his flustered state, and had quickly placed a hand on Sebastian’s arm to try and soothe him.

_“Want me to kiss it better?”_

The words were odd, especially coming from Jim’s lips. The blond was so used to saying them himself, those countless, dreaded nights spent in the bathroom whilst he was forced to watch Jim spiral into mass self-destruction.But this made a nice change. It gave Sebastian at least a little hope that maybe the once-innocent man he had first men wasn’t all gone.

Maybe the human part of Jim Moriarty was still there somewhere.

“Usually I’m the one asking you that,” Sebastian protested weakly, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

Jim just shrugged pleasantly.

“Well maybe things have changed.”


	15. Garden Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months have passed. An accident abroad forces both Jim and Sebastian to reconsider their plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - injury

The mission to Serbia hadn’t meant to end in disaster.

Jim had first heard of the news whilst on a telephone call with a frantic-sounding Sebastian. It had been late when the call had come in, and Jim had answered it from the luxury of their own home, bundled in his dressing gown whilst the television played some old rerun of Top Of the Pops. As soon as he picked up the phone the raspy breathing on the other end had signalled that something was majorly wrong, but the signal had been terrible and the call had cut out before Sebastian could even finish his sentence. All Jim had heard was the name ‘Wellington.’

Something had happened to Wellington.

Four months later the invitation had come through the letterbox of Sebastian and Jim’s home - an invitation to the garden party. Jim recognised the neat cursive writing at once as belonging to Maria, Wellington’s wife. Sebastian had been out food shopping that morning, so reluctantly Jim had taken a seat on the sofa to read it by himself.

The letter was cheery enough, although Jim had a feeling that it had been somewhat forced. The letter detailed about trivial family matters; Wellington’s baby had been born a month ago, a baby girl named Sophie by the sounds of it, and a garden party was being held the following weekend to celebrate their move into a new house to accommodate them all. The letter hadn’t focused too much on Wellington himself, but according to Maria the physiotherapies were going well and he was slowly starting to get ‘better’, if better was even the right word for it.

Sebastian had arrived home with bagfuls of shopping an hour later. Jim had sat him down and shown him the letter almost immediately -Sebastian didn’t say anything, though the expression on his face said it all. They shared a look, and the irishman had gone to hug the other man before Sebastian had already got up and stormed out of the room. Jim had heard the front-door shut not long after that, and his cigarettes were missing from the kitchen table.

The following weekend the pair donned their best suit and ties, and arrived at Wellington’s family home along with a bouquet of flowers in their clutch. The house was smaller now, much smaller than the one that they had owned previously, with a metal ramp trailing down from the front-door to the pathway and with an excellent view of the woods opposite. In the letter Wellington’s wife claimed that it had been a ‘mutual agreement’ to move to the countryside - it would provide a much-needed break from the bustling city as well as giving a chance for the family to simply escape for as long as they needed to.

Maria had been the one to answer the door, dressed in her own floral summer dress with little Maisie stood by her feet. Maisie was dressed in her own pair of dungarees, with bumblebee socks which had started to slip down her ankles and a pink plaster on her knee from where she had undoubtably grazed it whilst playing outside. It was Maria who smiled instantly at the sight of the flowers.

“I'm so glad you could make it boys. Come, everybody’s out in the garden.”

She led them inside, through the house and out towards where a crowd of people were gathered in the garden. The majority of guests were adults, likely relatives, accompanied by the odd two or three children who were currently busy bouncing around on the trampoline at the end of the garden. Maisie scrambled off to join the other children, and Wellington’s wife had courteously introduced Jim and Sebastian to each of the guests. There were cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles, all of whom were chattering away and sipping on champagne glasses, leaving both Jim and Sebastian feeling rather out of place. Maria had introduced them simply as 'friends of the family'; An influx of handshaking and hugs had ensued, some more awkwardly than others, and once the introductions were finally over with Maria had pulled them both aside so that they could have some privacy.

“Chris is inside,” she explained with a faded sort of smile, the smile in question only half-hearted, and it came as no surprise that a few of the older relatives were spying on them curiously from the sidelines. However they soon turned their heads again and resumed small talk. “He didn’t want to come outside, I told him you’d both be coming, he’s been looking forward to seeing you.”

Sebastian had been the one to pull her into a brief hug, whilst Jim had merely stood back and watched.

“Thank you, Maria.”

The interior of the house was clean and tidy, and the pastel blue walls reminded Jim of the flowery dress that Wellington’s wife was wearing. A few family photos were dotted around, the majority of which focused on the two daughters, though neither of the two had dared to touch any of the photo frames out of fear that they might ruin or disturb the display. A larger photograph of Wellington and Maria's wedding day sat pride of place on the mantlepiece, Wellington was dressed in a fitted grey suit and tie whilst his wife was wearing her own long white dress, sporting a floral pattern alike the one she was wearing that day. Even Jim begrudgingly admitted that it was 'quite nice'.

They had found Wellington sat by the window, observing the party outside in the garden. He was sat in his chair, wrapped up in a loose hoodie and pair of sweatpants. Suddenly Jim couldn’t help but feel rather overdressed. Wellington’s newly-grown beard was scruffy and made him look much older than he actually was, although as Jim followed the sniper’s gaze he could finally see what Wellington had been admiring this whole time - Maria and their new baby perched on the other side of the grass.

He must have caught the two mens’ reflection in the glass because a weak smile slowly curled at his lips.

“You look like shit,” Sebastian sniffed with a small grin, coming to stand next to his injured companion as he stared out towards the garden.

All three of them watched as a cake was brought out into the garden, a large white, frosted thing with candles stuck all around the edge. They could hear the muffled clapping and laughing from outside, and Sebastian could sense that Wellington was growing tense at the noise.

“How are you feeling?” Jim questioned suddenly from behind them both, completely ignoring the noises coming from outside. “What are the doctors saying?”

Wellington seemed glad by the distraction, exhaling a little as he rested his head against the back of the chair. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, his eyes closed just as comfortably.

“My mood changes from day to day. It’s hard to tell,” he admitted truthfully. “Some movement’s come back in my fingers, the doctors are coming back tomorrow for a checkup. They say I might be able to move into a new chair by Christmas if I’m lucky.”

“At least that’s a positive.”

“I suppose.”

Sebastian had ventured back out into the garden once things had quietened down, managing to steal some leftover cake for them. He had found Maria on the way back inside, busy washing up the empty plates and cutlery, they had cried and shared a brief hug before quickly parting again.

_He had lied to Maria. He had told her that Wellington’s injury had been from a fall._

_He hadn’t even told her about the gun, or about who was responsible for firing the shot._

Sebastian had dried his eyes on a kitchen towel before going back into the backroom once more to greet Wellington. He set the plate of cake down onto the table. It appeared that Jim had already gone elsewhere, so he wouldn’t be joining them for cake then.

“Where did the boss go?” The blond asked out of curiosity, scooping up a small piece of frosting with his fork before offering it to Wellington. There was a bottle of pills on the countertop, Maria had instructed Sebastian to give one to her husband along with the cake.

“Haven’t got a clue,” Wellington admitted truthfully, his gaze fixed upon the setting sun as he chewed thoughtfully on the piece of cake. “He left before I even had time to notice, he’s probably upstairs sulking somewhere.”

Wellington chuckled lowly, but Sebastian remained quiet.

Once the remainder of the cake had eventually been polished off, a strained silence had settled in the room. The injured man’s eyes were still directed towards the trees outside, and no matter how hard he tried Sebastian couldn’t help but to watch him. Maria’s letter had been right, the house had a perfect view of the woods.

“I forgot to ask how you’re feeling, Sebastian,” Wellington, who was the first to break the silence, said.

Sebastian merely grimaced in return and hastily shook his head.

“Don’t be daft, I’m not the important one here.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for what happened. It wasn’t your fault-“

“-We both know it was my fault.”

Neither man spoke for a few minutes, and the silence was probably for the best. The tension surrounding the air was broken only when Sebastian noticed how uncomfortable Wellington had become, how the strands of his beard had started to scratch at his neck, making it red and irritable in places.

“What’s with the pirate look you’ve got going on? Whose idea was the beard?” Sebastian hummed curiously, unable to help but smile ever so slightly.

“Maria’s an angel but she really doesn’t have a fucking clue how to shave. I’ll look like a yeti by Christmas if it grows any longer.”

“Then let me help you.”

The bathroom was on the ground floor, Wellington explained that the house had been perfectly renovated to accommodate his chair. As they walked Sebastian took the opportunity to admire the rest of the house some more, it was covered in portraits and flowers, all of which helped to give the place a breath of fresh air. It was peaceful, yet there was still no sign of Jim.

With a little help from Wellington, Sebastian had soon been able to locate the razor and the shaving cream. He took a seat awkwardly on the edge of the bathtub before beginning to apply the cream and shave the sniper’s beard.

“Trust me, Chris, you’re going to look like a new man once I’m finished,” the blond promised eagerly, the blade gliding over the rough parts of the man’s beard as the brunet clumps of hair drifted to the floor.

The result made them both smile, even Wellington who now sported his own wide grin. Sebastian had picked up a mirror to show him his new clean shave; they had both admired it in comfortable silence for a minute or so, however a thought was evidently playing on Wellington’s mind.

“Moran?”

“Hm?”

The man sighed, his gaze drifting instead towards the reflection of Sebastian in the mirror. He looked so much happier now, relieved too.

“I think you should take charge over the boys in the network. I want you to have my old position.”

At once Sebastian seemed to falter, the mirror lowering in his grip as he placed it hastily on the side. Wellington sounded encouraging as he spoke, determined even, but the very thought of it made Sebastian’s heart sink.

“Are you being serious?”

“Completely serious,” The man affirmed. “I’ve got no choice but to retire, besides it means I get to spend more time with the girls. It’s been on my mind for a while now- I think it’s the right thing to do.”

Without a word, Sebastian wrapped his arms around Wellington, pulling him into a gentle embrace. The tears he had been so desperate to disguise had started to fall again.

The embrace would have been the perfect goodbye, if it hadn’t been interrupted by Wellington’s wife stood in the threshold, her face contorted horribly with despair and anger. Jim was stood behind her, not saying a word. Oh fuck, what had he done? Sebastian could tell by the sulky look on his face that it had been something bad.

_“Sebastian I think it’s best if you leave.”_

It wasn’t a question, so the blond got up to his feet and left at once.

There had been no goodbyes at the door, no farewell hugs or kisses. The suit that Sebastian was wearing had started to itch, so with a grunt of irritation he tugged off his tie and shovelled it into his pocket for safekeeping. Jim still hadn’t said anything, he was curled up in the passenger seat scowling away moodily. They hadn’t spoken since leaving the garden party.

Jim’s fingers tapped against the side of the car as Sebastian drove, a droning, persistent drumming that stopped only when Sebastian dragged the car to a halt. It jerked violently, causing Jim to knock against the side of the car with a faint thud. The irishman immediately broke out into a frenzy of swearing, but Sebastian ignored him.

“Why did you do it, James?”

“She needed to know the truth.”

The tapping had ceased, and as Jim clambered upright again Sebastian could see clearly just how flustered and red he had become. It was hard not to punch the irishman in the face at that exact moment, but still he resisted. They hadn’t done much kissing over the past few months, if anything most days were spent riling each other up over the breakfast table. Jim liked to call it ‘trouble in paradise’ only because he had read the phrase in one of his stupid books. But it had never been a ‘paradise’ in the first place. The nights of passion had slowly ceased to exist since Jim had started to spend more and more time in his office, and on the odd occasions where they did sleep together, the exchanges were usually futile and were over within no time at all.

“The truth about what, exactly?” Sebastian asked again, this time keeping keeping his voice flat and emotionless. It didn’t stop the feeling of rage beginning to bubble inside of his chest once more, a feeling that was so dangerously close to spilling out and causing a catastrophe.

“Let me remind you James that _you_ were the one who sent us out on that mission. _You_ were the one who left us in the dark, we were helpless.”

“But you still shot him.”

“We couldn’t see. The passage was pitch-black.”

“The bullet hit his spine, Sebastian. You paralysed him.”

All those months of trying to bury the memories away had been destroyed in a single sentence. Sebastian could remember it now, as much as the images still taunted him when he closed his eyes.

The night had been cold, the coldest night that they had recorded since their arrival. It had only been the two of them on night-watch duty, Moran and Wellington, wrapped from head to toe in thick woollen hats and coats, binoculars clasped precariously in their trembling hands.

A night shift wasn’t uncommon, and both Sebastian and his counterpart had endured more than their fair share of them since touching down in Serbia. Wellington claimed that he didn’t mind it so much, he enjoyed the thrill of getting to spot a wild animal through his binoculars - and so far their total added up to three foxes and one bear. Sebastian had protested that the bear was probably just a fallen log or a pile of leaves, though Wellington had been adamant that it was real. The locals were nice enough too, sometimes they came to bring them food when the snow became too dangerous, and Moran and Wellington had even spent one afternoon playing football with the children in the village. Although admittedly they had lost.

They ate their food and drank their tea as per usual; on the night in question it had been tinned mince and a small portion of rice. Sebastian had happily wolfed down his own serving though Wellington had politely declined, mumbling something under his breath that ‘ _the wife thinks we should go vegetarian_ ’. Once they had finished their had dumped their tins of food and taken the opportunity to take a bathroom break in the opposing bushes.

The hours came and passed, the last time Sebastian checked his watch it had been 1:46AM. Wellington had gone to get them both another flask of tea when the shouting had erupted, accompanied by a loud chorus of gunshots. The gunshots sounded like they had arisen from the various tunnel passages hidden below the sleepy little village, and immediately Sebastian had sprung to attention as he sprinted down to go and investigate.

By the time Moran arrived at the tunnel, the shouting and the gunfire had both equally ceased. His torch had ran out of battery an hour or so into the night watch, so reluctantly he had been forced to crawl his way through the passage in the pitch-black, listening carefully to the sounds of his own boots sloshing against the thick mud below. As he delved further into the tunnel, the blond had made sure to keep his gun firmly in his grip - just as a precaution.

Then the first noise had echoed through the tunnel, they had been footsteps, and judging by the pace they had been incredibly fast footsteps - more like running.

Like a tiger stalking its prey Moran had waited and waited, until finally the footsteps came into a close enough range and he had opened fire without warning. Three bullets had been fired in total, with two narrowly missing whilst the other hit the target without a second of doubt.

A cry of anguish followed - as soon as the bullet had collided with the man his footsteps had instantly faltered, and with a lifeless thud he crashed to the muddied ground below. A small torch had toppled out of the man’s pocket when he had fallen, rolling freely into the filth and stopping just by Sebastian’s boots. He had picked it up, smacking the side of the torch irritably to try and get it to work before finally a dim light proceeded to spurt from the end. Sebastian had been grinning eagerly as he raised the torch, as though he was a trophy hunter who had just caught his first big prize. That was until Wellington’s face had been illuminated in the darkness, and suddenly Sebastian hadn’t felt like grinning anymore.


	16. Babysitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim turns twenty-two.

“If you could be any Shakespeare character at all, who would you be?”

Jim was dangling precariously from the edge the sofa as he spoke, his head almost brushing against the carpet below. It was Winter now, and Jim’s twenty-second birthday was in approximately twelve hours and thirty two seconds.

The autumn months hadn’t been kind to the irishman, and neither had the descent into Winter. For starters, Sebastian had left completely unannounced. It was no secret that they had been in troubled waters for quite some time, but that wasn’t to say that Jim hadn’t been surprised when he had gone down to the kitchen the following morning to find some cereal, only to be greeted with a handwritten note from Sebastian himself. He had gone, fled in the middle of the night to stay with friends.

The irony stung.

After that, Jim had been completely alone. Sebastian had stopped coming to work altogether, throwing the network into complete disarray, whilst as each day the Irishman’s mind strayed further and further away from rational thinking. The office served as his new home, each day and night was spent hidden away on the fourth floor, sometimes even for multiple days at a time. And as the weeks passed he was beginning to look sicker and more gaunt than ever.

With Sebastian missing in action and Wellington long-since retired, Nadia had taken over as Jim’s second-in-command. She was hard-headed, but not to the point of arrogance; Nadia had dark skin, and long frizzy hair which she often tied up in a bun, often sporting the same bold shade of red lipstick each day. She had been a member of the network right from the very start after Jim had happened to stumble across her in a bar in Soho, and ever since then he had grown rather fond of her. Nadia was older than Jim, in-fact she was older than the majority of the other member’s in Moriarty’s web. According to her story she had served in the armed forces for six years prior before being discharged after a bout of depression - and if Jim’s research was correct then she was telling the truth.

On the afternoon in question, Jim had called a one-to-one meeting. Arguably it hadn’t been much of a meeting - it simply revolved around Jim lounging on the sofa of his suite whilst Nadia sat patiently cross-legged beside him, composing herself almost like a therapist would. She wasn’t wearing any lipstick that day. They had been sat there for well over an hour now, with Jim rambling off whatever thoughts came into his mind, whilst Nadia offered the occasional ‘hm’ or ‘yes’ in return just to keep her boss pleased. Judging by the state of the irishman he had stayed overnight again; the dark circles underneath his eyes were beginning to grow more prominent, and he had worn the same outfit for a consecutive three days now to the point where it had become creased and in desperate need of a wash. She had tried to call Sebastian on numerous occasions for advice, but each time she had been greeted by the same disappointing answer-phone message, so in the end she had merely stopped trying.

“Nadia! I asked you a question, pay attention!”

Jim watched impatiently as his new second-in-command jumped out of her daydream, and turned to face him with a somewhat reluctant expression.

“Why are you asking me about Shakespeare?” Nadia asked warily, massaging her temple with the tips of her fingers whilst her gaze remained fixed on whatever Jim was doing.

It looked almost like Jim was trying to imitate a bat, the way that he hung backwards from the sofa, a little too dangerously for the sniper’s liking. However he had soon lost his balance and toppled disgracefully onto the floor below.

“Because Sebastian likes Shakespeare,” he retorted bluntly, getting back up onto his feet and resuming his previous seat on the sofa, though this time he was sitting normally for once.

It was strange, what with Sebastian not being around. At first nobody had known what was going on; Jim had simply come into the office one morning with a foul temper, suffering one of his usual bursts of hysteria before until a few snipers had walked in on him halfway through attempting to smash up a bookshelf. It hadn’t taken them long at all to pinpoint the cause as to leading back to Moran. Everybody knew that the boss was obsessed with Sebastian Moran, whether in a good or a bad way. Back when he had still been around Sebastian had received priority over practically everything, earning himself the nickname of ‘Moriarty’s precious lapdog’. A few employees, particularly the snipers, had been jealous, though the majority had quickly learnt to adapt to it, mainly out of fear of what Jim would do if they didn’t. But now that Sebastian was gone an odd quiet seemed to have settled over the place, and the atmosphere inside the office had become awfully strange without Moran there to bark orders.

Nadia pursed her lips thoughtfully, attempting to think of an answer before eventually caving in and giving up. She didn’t seem to be the academic type in Jim’s eyes, and equally she didn’t seem to be one to enjoy Shakespeare either. Jim couldn’t blame her - Shakespeare plays were often too long and boring and they never made any sense.

“Sebastian used to say that if he could be any Shakespeare character at all then he’d be Benvolio Montague,” The shorter man informed Nadia in a matter-of-fact tone.

“And why is that?”

“Because he’s the only one that gets a happy ending.”

Nadia smiled faintly.

“You like Shakespeare?”

“No, I only know that because Sebastian took me to watch a stage production of Romeo and Juliet once. I hated it.”

Jim’s stomach offered a tumultuous rumble, a growl that didn’t go unnoticed by Nadia who gave a disapproving frown in return. Without a moment of hesitation the irishman wrapped his arms around his stomach in an attempt to drown out the noise, though it was too late. Nadia was already up on her feet again, this time a lot more sternly than before.

“You haven’t eaten today,” she said simply.

It wasn’t a question, it was more so a statement. Nadia’s no-nonsense approach was the exact reason why Jim had hired her in the first place, and even Sebastian had admitted on the odd occasion (usually after one too many drinks) that he found her rather frightening. Her demeanour was bold yet contained as she stood before her boss, evidently she knew what she was doing, and with a horrible pang of dismay Jim realised in that moment that she was treating him just like he was a small child. Like she was his babysitter.

“James-“

Jim shot her a critical glare, and immediately his newly-appointed second-in-command fell silent.

“-Just because you’re my new second in command doesn’t mean that you have the authority to tell me what to do. So for now I suggest you stop trying to boss me around.”

He got to his feet, now levelling with Nadia, before tearing away with a prominent scowl as he stalked towards his desk to get away from the conversation. The bright blue light still blared from the computer screen and it dawned on Jim that he had forgotten to turn it off the previous night. Their electricity and power bills were already skyrocketing as it was. He flung himself down onto his chair, wheeling it closer towards the desk so that he could reach the computer screen, all whilst Nadia watched on with a look of despair.

“I may not be a qualified therapist, boss, but I’ve got eyes and I can tell when somebody isn’t okay. You really need to speak to somebody… I mean a professional, somebody who can help.”

“Done it already,” Jim grunted sourly in response.

“A relative?”

“Go away.”

“Sebastian?-“

“I said go AWAY.”

Jim’s fist came crashing down upon the table causing his papers to scatter and spill everywhere, and instantly Nadia fled.

That night, Jim returned to the house in Kensington for the first time that week. He didn’t want to confess that Nadia’s words had gotten to him, but the conservation that afternoon had left him with a feeling of bitter resentment and a sudden urge to punch a wall.

He took a cab straight from the office, getting caught in a traffic jam near Belgravia only to be charged an extra four pounds. Reluctantly he had paid up, departing the cab once it had reached the house and fumbling around with the keys inside of his pocket so that he could let himself inside. The lights in the hallway and kitchen were still on; ‘ _Funny_ ’ Jim thought, he didn’t remember leaving them on. Without dwelling too much on the subject he kicked his shoes off and helped himself to a cigarette, lighting it before trudging into the kitchen to go and turn off the lights. He took a long drag from the cigarette, stepping through the threshold before something partially odd caught his gaze, and with a jolt of horror it dawned upon him who the stranger stood in the middle of the kitchen was.

“Fuck, Moran."

Sebastian Moran stood awkwardly facing him, the metal cake tin clasped in his hands.

With a wince, Jim reluctantly discarded his cigarette out of the window, before resuming his previous stance again so that he could glare at Sebastian furiously. The blond remained unfazed, if anything he looked the complete opposite of Jim. During their time apart it seemed as though Sebastian had actually taken the effort to look after himself; he was wearing new clothes and his skin looked clean, and Jim even got the feeling that he had gotten a new haircut.

“I figured you’d be awake,” Moran explained simply, dumping the metal tin down onto the kitchen counter before Jim had time to protest.

“I came to drop you something.”

He lifted up the lid of the tin to reveal a cake inside, there was chocolate oozing from the sides and the icing on top looked as though it had been smeared on clumsily. It must be homemade. The cake itself looked almost like somebody had battered it with a shovel of sorts, and the candles on top reading ’22’ seemed like a last ditch attempt to try and salvage it. Sebastian stepped back to allow Jim to get a closer look, and curiously the shorter man stepped forward to observe it.

“But it isn’t my birthday yet,” Jim pointed out doubtfully, until Sebastian showed him the time on his phone.

It was already midnight.

With a satisfied hum, Jim outstretched his hand and proceeded to scoop up some icing onto his fingertip. Once he had taken a satisfactory amount, he proceeded to pop his finger into his mouth to eat the icing. Jim smiled at once. It tasted like shit.

“I assume Nadia phoned you then?” The irishman sighed knowingly, scratching the back of his head as he came to perch against one of the counters. Sebastian looked down uncomfortably and offered a dismissive nod. Of course Nadia had blabbed.

“You know you can’t just rely on other people to look after you, Jim. It isn’t fair,” the man sighed, looking up in an attempt to catch Jim’s gaze. But Jim was still staring stubbornly at his feet.

“I don’t rely on other people to look after me,” the irishman protested.

“Is that why you haven’t changed your clothes since last week?”

Nadia really hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut, had she? Jim snorted in return and slammed the lid back down upon the cake tin a little aggressively. He pushed it aside so that it was out of the way. Sebastian seemed almost hurt by the gesture.

“Are you coming home?” Jim asked flatly.

The blond didn’t answer at first - Jim merely presumed that he was still sour over the birthday cake that had been dumped on the side. When he eventually answered, his tone seemed strained, almost like this wasn’t the first time that he had considered the question. 

“I thought the cake was enough of an answer.”

Jim smiled, though it wasn’t a proper smile.

Sebastian didn’t sleep in bed with Jim that night, that decision had been made right from the very start. Instead the irishman insisted that Sebastian should get the luxury of the bed, considering that it was had been his own house in the first place, whilst he instead camped out on the sofa. The decision seemed reasonable enough; Sebastian said his farewells without any hugs or kisses, departing to his own room as the sound of the click from the bedroom door followed. Jim listened carefully to see if Sebastian would lock it, but he didn’t.

He waited for just over an hour until he was entirely sure that Sebastian was asleep, before finally making his daring venture out into the kitchen. A cold breeze caught Jim’s attention as he entered, soon realising that the window was still open. After climbing up onto the countertop he had managed to close it, hopping down soon after whilst trying to make as little noise as possible.

The metal cake tin still sat abandoned on the side of the counter. Jim felt somewhat guilty about leaving it there, a feeling that wasn’t helped by the incessant hunger gnawing at his stomach. He prized open the lid, plucking a knife from the drawer before deciding to cut himself a slice.

Jim had been rather fearful that the noise would awaken a grumpy Sebastian from upstairs, but the faint snoring assured him that the blond was still deep in a peaceful slumber.

The rest of the cake didn’t taste so bad. The middle was a little soggy but Jim was willing to look past it as he started to scoop the food into his mouth. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed chocolate like this and strangely it left him feeling rather... good. Perhaps it was just the serotonin from the sugar rush, or maybe it was the fact that Sebastian had made him a cake for his birthday.

Jim had polished off another two slices of cake before eventually dragging himself to bed - or the sofa to be more specific. His night sleep had involved a multitude of constant tossing and turning, and upon waking up a few hours later he had been greeted by a dull, throbbing headache in the back of his skull. Sebastian was already in the kitchen when Jim had gone to investigate, examining the remains of the half-eaten birthday cake.

“Did you help yourself to the cake whilst I was asleep?” He questioned curiously, prizing his attention away from the cake so that he could watch Jim as he entered.

Jim merely shrugged.

“Must’ve been the mice or something.”

“It looks like somebody cut slices out of it with a knife.”

“Maybe they were just really clever mice.”

Jim went to fetch a glass of water for his headache, before snatching the newspaper from the side and sitting down so that he could read it. The blond came to join him, slotting into the seat opposite from him as he watched him thoughtfully. An odd, soapy scent of lavender filled the room, one that Jim didn’t recognise. It was coming from Sebastian’s clothes.

Sebastian’s words quickly snapped him out of his daze.

“Happy twenty-second birthday, Jim Moriarty.”

Jim lowered his newspaper to find the taller of the two watching him with a wide, somewhat strained, smile. Jim took it to be a measly attempt at an apology, so he simply lifted up the newspaper again and continued to read a rather dull article about the stock market. He flipped the page, only to spot Sebastian’s leg beginning to bounce up and down anxiously from the corner of his eye.

“You know if you really wanted to wish me a happy birthday then you should have come home earlier,” Jim stated abruptly, his anger finally bursting as he dropped the newspaper down onto the table and looked up towards Sebastian.

Sebastian wasn’t smiling anymore.

The smell of lavender was still there, causing Jim’s nostrils to tingle and twitch. He surveyed the other man’s appearance, from his perfectly-ironed clothes to his clean shave and haircut. Ordinarily Sebastian put little to no effort into maintaining his appearance, or at least he hadn’t whilst the two of them were still dating. He had been happy enough to lounge around the house in his underwear most days, usually until Jim shrieked at him to go and put some clothes on, only on the odd occasion getting dressed when they had a work conference to attend to. But now the Sebastian sat before him looked almost like a stranger - and either he was a completely reformed man or Jim’s worst suspicions were confirmed:

“You’re seeing somebody else, aren’t you?” Jim asked flatly.

At first the words didn’t seem to comprehend with Sebastian, who sat there still as a statue with a dumfounded expression across his face. He must have spotted Jim’s heated glare from across the table because quickly he cleared his throat and adjusted himself.

“You think I’ve slept with somebody else?”

"Was it with multiple people?"

Sebastian threw his head back and laughed, an action that completely stopped Jim in his tracks. The laugh bounced around the room until finally it dimmed to a low chuckle, and the blond firmly shook his head. He wasn’t angry by the accusation, or at least he wasn’t showing it.

“It’s your birthday, James. You need to lighten up-“

“-But did you?” Jim protested uncertainly.

Moran firmly shook his head.

“I went to stay with Maria and Wellington for a while. Their old carer had to leave, I offered to step in for a bit just to help out around the house and clear my head,” he explained. “Maria forgave me for what happened, it took a lot of convincing but Wellington helped… she was the one who suggested I come back here in the first place. She said that you and I need each-other, more than we realise apparently.”

Jim fell silent, a small frown creeping across his feature. If Sebastian was attempting to be poetic then he didn’t want to hear it. Without another word he leant backwards so that he could grapple with the metal tin on the countertop, eventually picking it up and placing it down in the middle of them with a victorious thud. He reopened the lid to reveal the half-eaten birthday cake from yesterday, before nudging it gently towards Sebastian so that he could take a slice for himself. Neither said anything, but the warmth was mutual.

They ate the remainder of the cake in silence. Jim peered up from his plate occasionally to see what his counterpart was going, though Sebastian has happily eating eating away at his cake slice without complaint. Once finished, Jim decided to help wash up; he lingered by the side of the sink beside Sebastian to help find some washing up liquid, the blond making the odd comment about the robins and magpies in the garden as they did so.

“There’s a magpie in the garden, isn’t that supposed to be good luck?”

“One for sorrow,” Jim corrected him, earning a playful snort from Sebastian.

“I never knew you were superstitious,” The taller man mocked lightheartedly.

“I’m Irish, it’s what we’re good at."

Whilst waiting for the basin to fall up with water, Jim took the opportunity to peek out of the window to try and locate the magpie that Sebastian was talking about. He found it soon enough, tucked inside one of the bushes no doubt searching for worms and caterpillars. Sebastian came to join him, and they both watched thoughtfully as the black and white bird sprung out from the bush and swiftly flew away.

His father had always told him growing up that a single magpie meant bad luck, a superstition that had proved to be all too cynical when he had eventually dropped dead himself whilst Jim was in his teenage years. But Jim didn’t consider them to be bad luck, even despite what had happened to his father. They were beautiful, graceful creatures - and superstitions were a load of shit anyway. Sebastian must have read his thoughts, and without a word he reached out to take ahold of Jim’s hand.


	17. Syncopation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the cemetery provides closure, meanwhile Jim reminisces on the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - brief use of homophobic language

It had been Jim’s idea to visit his parent’s graves that afternoon.

Sebastian had been the one to object, arguing that it was Jim’s birthday and they should be out doing something more cheerful instead like bowling or going to the cinema. However after a shouting match Jim had won the argument and come out as victorious.

It was raining when they left the house, according to Sebastian the weather channel had predicted a thunder storm for later on that evening,and Jim couldn’t say that he was too thrilled by the prospect. He didn’t like thunderstorms. They decided against taking a cab; the cemetery was only a short walk away and besides the local football team was playing a match that day so no-doubt traffic would be delayed. Sebastian had already spotted a few people passing by in red, striped scarves and waving banners around.

By the time they arrived at the cemetery the rain had ceased, but only slightly. Sebastian, who had been attempting to shield the Irishman with his umbrella, quickly lowered it and attempted to shake off any lingering water. Jim was stood waiting for him.

“Aren’t you going to lead the way?” Moran asked skeptically, only to receive a slight frown from his counterpart.

“I don’t know the way,” Jim admitted truthfully. “I haven’t been here in years.”

Sebastian nodded in understanding, though the news didn’t fill him with much confidence. He couldn’t suddenly confess to Jim that he had spent many hours here before talking to his dead parents’ graves, Jim would probably pluck out his eyeballs if he ever found out. So instead he took on the role of obedient guard-dog and offered to help Jim find the headstones.

After a prolonged amount of searching, mainly caused by Sebastian purposely taking them in the wrong direction, the pair finally found what they were looking for. The headstones of Jim’s parents resided near the back of the cemetery, underneath an old willow tree which leaves had already started to drop. They had been hard to spot at first, mostly because his mother’s headstone didn’t have a name on it. Leaving the headstone empty had been Jim’s decision, not that it had been a particularly hard decision to make. Headstones and burials were expensive - and Jim didn’t want to use up his precious network money to pay for an expensive coffin, or even a decent headstone.

Sebastian came to stand next to the irishman, hands rested respectfully by his sides.

“They would have hated this… Being buried so close to each-other,” Jim mused aloud.

“They couldn’t stand each-other, even when they were still alive.”

Upon closer inspection, his father’s grave looked almost like it had been vandalised. It had been so pristine at the funeral service, but then again Jim supposed that had been almost a decade ago. Now it was dirty and the writing had started to fade, not helped by the fact that somebody had scribbled over it in spray paint.

“Ghosts?” Sebastian asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“More like teenagers and junkies.” Jim retorted solemnly.

Sensing one of Jim’s ‘bad episodes’ oncoming, Sebastian stepped back and allowed some time for Jim to mourn in private. Even when he had left, Jim remained firmly rooted on the spot, staring down at the pair of headstones almost robotically. He would have been lying if he said he felt anything; there was no grief, no anger, no nothing. Eventually he crouched down beside the gravestones, so that in-case Sebastian returned it looked as though he was actually doing something.

Jim turned first to his father’s grave, slowly outstretching a hand to brush over the areas of graffiti. But the headstone was wet, and the irishman quickly recoiled. The graffiti had been done in yellow spray paint, but even Jim couldn’t tell what the strange symbols meant.

He then turned to his mother’s grave. But this time he didn’t reach out to touch it, for he had a horrible feeling that if he was to touch it then something bad would happen. Jim didn’t believe in ghosts, but that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t cautious. Instead, he simply spoke to it.

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not… I hope you can’t otherwise this will be awkward for the both of us, but this is just incase,” The irishman began to explain curtly.

“It’s my birthday today. The big _twenty two_ … I know you aren’t here to see it, not that you would have cared anyway. You didn’t even send me a card for my last birthday. At least you have an excuse now. I came to see you and pa, I figured it was long overdue.”

Jim could sense himself becoming distracted, so much so that he had forgotten what he wanted to say. But he didn’t want to just leave it there - that wouldn’t be right. At his father’s funeral the priest had read out multiple passages from the bible, picked out specially by his father before he had kicked the bucket. At the time Jim hadn’t understood them, nor had his little sister who was still very much a baby. Of course he had gone to church every Sunday, even if it hadn’t been of his own accord, and prayed to the big man in the clouds. Yet despite his endless hatred for the Bible, one passage from the funeral had stood out in particular, and even to this day he wasn’t sure why it had stuck.

_“The souls of the just are in the hand of God and no torment shall touch them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; and their passing away was thought an affliction and their going forth from us, utter destruction. But they are in peace.”_

But Jim wasn’t that poetic, so he kept it brief:

“Go to Hell, Mam.”

Sebastian returned not long after, this time carrying with him two ice-creams. A rocky road for Jim, and a strawberry for himself.

He stumbled awkwardly through the cemetery with the ice creams clutched perilously in his hands, evidently attempting to protect them from the rainstorm with not much success.

“I thought you might want cheering up,” he called over to Jim, who clambered up from where he had been crouching and went to run over to join Sebastian. “Sorry they’re a bit damp.”

Eagerly, Jim had taken the rocky road for himself, attempting to grapple with the rather soggy napkin and cone. He took a triumphant lick, just as a rumble of thunder sounded from afar.

“We should find shelter,” Jim decided promptly, halfway through a mouthful of ice cream.

Sebastian was in the midst of trying to salvage his own ice-cream when Jim proposed the idea, and with a nod of evident relief he and Jim departed swiftly from the cemetery. Neither said goodbye to the headstones this time.

Their walk soon turned into a run as the rain began to worsen, as did the thunder which now sounded much closer than it had prior. The only shelter they had been able to find was the bus stop, which currently sat abandoned on the side of the road. Alike the headstones it had its fair share of vandalism and graffiti, only this time the graffiti depicted much cruder pieces of artwork, the majority of them sexual.

Jim was first to take a seat on the bench, curling himself up so that his feet were also firmly planted on top of the bench, whilst Sebastian took a seat beside him, sitting a little more gracefully than his counterpart was. They ate their ice creams in silence for the most part, listening to the sound of the rain and thunder from outside. A few people hurried past, dressed in long raincoats with their umbrellas flailing in the wind. The football match must have been postponed due to the thunder.

“I never thought I’d spend my twenty-second birthday like this,” Jim mused aloud after a while. He polished off the last few crumbs of his ice cream, before disposing of the napkin on the floor. Sebastian shot him a disapproving glare, so he reluctantly got to his feet and picked it up to place in the bin.

Once he had sat back down, Sebastian offered a reply.

“Which part?”

“My parents are both dead, I run a criminal network, and I’m hiding in a bus shelter eating ice cream.”

Sebastian immediately broke into a breathless chuckle, as did Jim.

“It could be worse I s’pose. You could be de-“

He went to continue, until a sudden wave of sickness forced him to stop. He shouldn’t joke about those things, especially not whilst he was still in the company of the irishman. Sebastian simply finished off the rest of his ice cream, and the pair remained in silence.

“I could be dead,” Jim finished off finally, acknowledging the sentence that Sebastian hadn’t dared to say aloud.

During his hospital stay, Jim had been gifted a small journal by one of the nurses. Inside contained small segments of everyday life in the ward, written in neat blue pen. It had been given to him by his therapist during another one of their memorable counselling sessions -with the intention that he was to use it every day - the aim was to ‘document his accomplishments’ supposedly.

Sebastian had been in the garden having a smoke when he had found it, the thunder having now disappeared along with the rain. They had walked back from the cemetery that afternoon; the blond was convinced that it would be safe to trek back considering that the rain had stopped, but on their way into Kensington a passing car had driven through a puddle and splashed Jim’s new coat. It had been hard to calm the irishman down after that.

The little journal was red, with his initials brandished proudly across the cover. It had been tucked away inside of Jim’s bedside drawer, likely from where he had shoved it in there carelessly after being discharged from hospital. After checking thoroughly to make sure that Sebastian was still preoccupied, he flopped down onto the bed, journal in hand, and flipped open to the first page.

_Friday 21st June 2002_

_Today in group counselling we were asked to write poems. It was Kelly running the session this time, she told us to write a poem about somebody who inspires us. At first I refused to take part, but Kelly promised that the person with the best poem would win a chocolate bar._

_At the end of the session we had to read out our poems to the group. Everybody wrote their poems about their mothers and fathers, somebody else wrote about their grandad. I wrote about Sebastian._

_I didn’t win the competition, apparently I used the wrong spelling of ‘your’ and the poem didn’t even make sense grammatically. Simon ended up winning (he was the one who wrote about his grandad) but after the session was over I threatened to bash him over the head with the television remote from the TV room, so he gave me his chocolate bar. I forced him not to tell anybody that I took his chocolate bar, or that I’d threatened to bludgeon him with the remote, but he promised that he wouldn’t tell anyone._

_They found the wrapper in my coat pocket that afternoon, and Kelly called me in to apologise to Simon. It wasn’t fair really, Simon had only won because his grandad was dead and everybody felt sorry for him. I swore at Kelly and called her a bitch. I wasn’t allowed out of my bedroom for the rest of the day, they wouldn’t let Sebastian visit either._

The passage made Jim smile, so he flipped over to the next page. The neat, blue pen ink had disappeared now, and the writing on the following page had grown scruffy and smudged.

_Monday 1st July 2002_

_There was a fight today, between Simon and the new bloke Youssef. Youssef’s only here temporarily because his old ward got too crowded and there weren’t enough beds._

_They were fighting because Simon stole Youssef’s last packet of cigarettes, and Youssef swung at him and split his lip. I was in my bedroom when it happened, I only went to go investigate because somebody set the alarm off and it was making such a racket. The staff came out and they both got restrained. Youssef passed me on his way out, I’d never spoken to him before. He called me a faggot._

_I didn’t see him again after that. According to Kelly he went back to his old ward the next day. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he called me. It made me so angry, so angry that I kicked the chair in Kelly’s office and she had to end our session early._

_Kelly knows about Sebastian, only because she recognises him from when he comes to visit sometimes. She asked why he doesn’t come to visit anymore, I told her it’s because he’s extremely selfish. She just laughed, but I wasn’t joking._

_They served sausage and mash for dinner that evening, but I told them I felt sick so I wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t technically a lie, I did feel sick but it wasn’t because of hunger. It was because of Youssef. I want him dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead._

_I’m going to do it tomorrow. I’m going to-_

The last words on the page had been blocked out with black marker pen, so heavily that Jim couldn’t distinguish what they were. The marker pen had stained the rest of the page too, leaving black ink smeared all across the writing. But the page had left a bad taste in Jim’s mouth, and he quickly closed it without reading anymore.

He had forgotten about Youssef; the two had barely known each-other for more than a day and already he had felt the need to pick on him. Belittle him. Jim’s statement about wanting to kill Youssef had remained fresh in the man’s mind right up until his discharge date. It hadn’t been hard; Youssef was asthmatic, the strained, shallow breathing had indicated that straight away. Anybody else would have blamed the ragged breathing on Youssef’s smoking addiction, but there were subtle differences between the two, ones that Jim knew all too well. The smoking would have killed him off anyway, Jim was merely doing him a favour.

A day after Jim’s discharge Youssef had suffered from a severe asthma attack. His asthma pump had gone mysteriously missing.

Jim decided that he didn’t want to keep the journey. It would serve him no use and it was simply a waste of perfectly good paper. He wrapped it up discreetly in an old, disused plastic bag, before carrying it downstairs so that he could throw it in the bin.

Having already finished his cigarette, Sebastian was back inside again, this time sat at the kitchen table watching the news on the little television. As Jim shuffled past him he playfully attempted to snatch the bag from his hands, only for Jim to dig his fingernails into the back of his hand and immediately he let go.

“What the fuck was that for!?”

Jim dumped the bag containing the journal swiftly into the bin, though upon looking back over he realised that Sebastian’s hand had begun to bleed. There were small indents on the back of his skin from where the irishman had pinched him, each emitting tiny specs of crimson blood which dribbled down the back of his skin. The taller of the two clutched to his hand over-dramatically, as if Jim had pulled out a knife and stabbed him, and even when the irishman returned Sebastian noticeably kept his distance. 

“Don’t touch my belongings, it’s not very gentlemanlike.”

Sebastian rose an eyebrow, still gently massaging his hand.

“Like you’d know anything about being a gentleman,” he muttered sourly under his breath.

They both exchanged glares, Jim’s glare was noticeably angrier than his counterpart’s. Then without warning, Sebastian heaved himself up from the chair and made a beeline straight towards the bin. He plucked the plastic bag straight from inside, swinging it triumphantly in his hands.

“I bet it’s drugs. You always try and disguise them whenever you’re using.”

Before Jim could stop him, Sebastian had already tipped the contents of the bag on to the table, watching as the journal tumbled out - the pages spilling everywhere. Having not expected there to be so much mess, the blond’s eyes widened in dismay as he scrambled to try and collect all of the paper. The last page left was dated back to the First of July, the day that Jim had encountered Youssef for the first time.

Sebastian’s eyes travelled over the writing, and by the end of it his face had gone rigid and pale.

“Can you throw it away now?” Jim pleaded at last, snatching the page from Sebastian’s hand and crumpling it up into a tight ball.

The blond nodded sheepishly, collecting the remains of the journal before proceeding to dump it in the bin. The book fell to the bottom of the bin with a satisfactory ‘thump’, but it wasn’t enough to get rid of the pained expression on Sebastian’s face.

“We can get rid of him if you want, that Youssef bloke. Just say the word.”

“Already did.” Jim shrugged dismissively.

“Asthma attack. Very messy… I didn’t stay around to watch.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t need to.”

As he sat there, Jim could sense the familiar feeling of Sebastian’s arms wrapping around his torso. The blond embraced him from behind, and Jim slowly melted into his touch. He didn’t say anything, even when Sebastian’s fingers began to thread gently through his dark locks of hair.

It reminded Jim almost of when they had first moved in together; those precious, discreet touches being closed curtains, mornings spent in bed engulfed in each-other’s arms. He missed the old days, the way that things used to be. It wasn’t as though one of them was dead and the other had been left as a widower - they were both still perfectly alive even if sometimes it didn’t feel that way. The network consumed every waking second of the day, and encounters such as this were rare exceptions.

“Remember when we first met? And you swore at me,” the irishman drawled tiredly, as Sebastian’s hands moved from his hair to his shoulders as he started to massage him gently.

Sebastian snorted at the memory.

“I invited you out for cake. You managed to get yourself assaulted.”

“Not much has changed then.”

Jim managed a weak smile at his own words, though Sebastian had already pulled away again. The lack of touch felt cold all of a sudden, and Jim stood up to try and distract himself from it. His stomach had started to ache now, most likely from all of the sugar he had consumed that day.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.”

The bathwater had been warm that evening, which made for a nice change. Once the door had been locked, Jim carefully slipped off his wet clothes from earlier, discarding them on the floor before slipping into the tub. The water rose just above his shoulders; that evening Jim had forgotten to add any bubble bath mixture, leaving a ghostly outline of his body visible under the water. He dared to reach out and touch it, his index finger trailing across the skin on his chest until finally it came to a stop at his heart. He had lost a significant amount of weight after Sebastian’s departure, but even then he could still feel his heart beating, feel it thump and pulse rhythmically like a drum beat. His heart had stopped before - only once. He couldn’t remember what it felt like, he could only remember Sebastian’s face once he had awoken in the hospital bed. It wasn’t often he got to see Sebastian cry.

He allowed his whole hand to rest upon his chest now, and without thinking he slid backwards and forced his whole body underwater. It was so much quieter under the water compared to on the surface. If he listened very carefully, then Jim could’ve sworn that he could _hear_ his heart beating. That syncopated melody. And in that moment he was alive.

He was alive.


	18. The Van Doren Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair receive an invite to an exclusive dinner party, whilst Jim is faced with the realisation that he is no longer alone.

“Why do we have to wear suits?”

“Because the invitation says formal attire and I don’t want to be stood up by the other guests.”

Sebastian stood in-front of the mirror, cursing frustratedly to himself as he struggled to knot his tie. It had been a long time since he had been forced to adorn such an item of clothing; usually Jim was feeling generous enough to let him get away with just a shirt and suit jacket, but as of tonight the irishman had made it very clear that ties were essential when it came to pleasing their guests. Jim had also made it very clear that Sebastian was to be on his best behaviour; that meant no swearing, no muttering under his breath, and most importantly no threats. The threats would have to wait until after dinner was over.

It had been a formal invitation to dinner at the Van Doren Estate down in Kent that very same evening. Sebastian had never heard of Peter Van Doren before, but according to Jim he was practically infamous amongst the criminal organisations - he supposedly had links with practically everyone across the country. The blond hadn’t seen a reason to attend, judging by the photographs Van Doren was nothing but another pompous lord with far too much money for his own good, however Jim had promised that this was the perfect gateway to earn some more cash for themselves.

The plan was to charm him, to charm Van Doren with enough smiles and compliments so that he would lend them a sufficient loan - enough to keep the network up and running. The number of clients had plummeted significantly after their disaster in Serbia, and even Jim seemed to realise just how important this opportunity was for them.

“You’ve made a mess of yourself. Come here.”

Jim’s instructions were firm, and with a sigh of relief Sebastian stepped back to allow Jim to finish adjusting his tie for him. Jim’s hands worked quickly, looping and knotting the black tie before ironing out any creases with his fingers. Upon finishing, Sebastian couldn’t help but admire himself in the mirror. Both he and James were dressed in black three-piece suits, although admittedly Jim’s suit fitted him a lot better than Sebastian’s did. The irishman had gone out of his way to seek out a tailor, and had spent the entirety of the morning in Oxford Street getting his suit specially altered so that it would fit perfectly.

Jim’s recent outings and purchases were proving to be controversial; new items kept appearing around the house, from new suits hung out proudly in the wardrobe, to the brand new Rolex watch that Jim was currently sporting on his wrist. Sebastian wanted to point out that if Jim wasn’t so egotistical then perhaps they wouldn’t be in such trouble regarding the network - but there was no point in even attempting to get through to him.

Once Jim had his mind set on something there was no going back.

“It’s almost six o’ clock. The car should be here to pick us up any minute.”

The irishman rolled back his sleeve so that he could check the time on his watch. Sebastian was half-convinced that he was only doing it to show off his new asset, but if he brought it up then no doubt it would only make Jim angry. And the shorter man was already impatient as it was.

“Where is it? The driver promised he’d be here at six on the dot. Either he was lying to me or there’s been some freak accident.”

“Calm down, James. He’s probably just stuck in some traffic.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

The car waiting for them outside of the house was a grey Bentley, identified by Sebastian who had recognised it from the countless car magazines he used to read as a teenager. They bundled into the backseats; Sebastian got in first so that he could greet the driver politely, whilst Jim climbed inside afterwards and refused to utter a word. ‘Sorry, we’re a little behind schedule,’ Moran apologised to the driver, who had apparently been sent by Van Doren himself, before the engine started once more and they were on their way.

They didn’t speak at first, not until they were out of Kensington and making their way through Bromley. It didn’t take long for Sebastian to pick up on Jim’s restless behaviour and his worsening temper, as well as the new scratches and marks that had arisen on the back of his hand. The blond had grown accustomed to Jim’s frequent episodes of self-harm at this stage, yet still his desperate pleas did nothing to solve the growing problem. The cupboards were already stacked high with a variety of different anti-depressants and mood-stabilisers - and even Jim couldn’t help the constant fits of mania he was starting to experience. One morning whilst Jim was at the hairdressers, Sebastian had found a discarded letter from Jim’s last doctor, the one whom Jim had branded as a ‘bore’ and had purposely stopped attending appointments.

The envelope was already torn in places, meaning that Jim had likely already read whatever was inside. The letter enclosed was a long one, a detailed letter from Jim’s doctor to the irishman, concluding at the very bottom of the page with the simple diagnosis of ‘BIPOLAR 2’. But Sebastian could already hear the taxi pulling up outside the front-door so he had hastily stuffed the letter into his pocket and said no more. Although as the following weeks passed, the diagnosis had been virtually impossible to shake from his mind.

“Did you hear about Chris?” Sebastian asked finally, deciding to break the silence.

Jim, who had been busy staring at his own reflection in the glass, looked over.

“If you’re referring to Wellington then no. What’s he done now?”

“He’s opted for a way out. You know, one of those assisted dying clinics in the Netherlands.”

“I thought he was starting to recover?”

“So did I,” Sebastian replied bluntly. “Apparently the doctors don’t think anymore can be done. He’s not going to get any better.”

Jim merely grunted dismissively in return.

“When’s the funeral?”

“Not until New Year. They’re still making the final amendments to the will.”

“Silly bugger,” Jim tutted eventually, gently massaging his temple as he turned his attention back towards the window again.

“If I were him I would have killed myself a lot sooner, at least it’s less hassle that way.”

The drive to Kent took two hours. It would have been quicker, if Jim hadn’t demanded to stop for multiple cigarette breaks along the way. The driveway was already packed with an array of cars by the time they arrived, and light was pouring out of each and every window, illuminating the whole house. As the pair stepped out of the vehicle they were greeted immediately by music, and Jim had pointed out the silhouette of the orchestra gathered inside.

The estate was based at the top of a hill, surrounded by empty fields and a long stone staircase which led the way up to the front entrance. The closer they got to the house, the more lively the scene became; the orchestra had struck up their own version of Rossini’s ’The Thieving Magpie’, whilst the dinner guests shrieked and laughed as they milled around the ballroom.

It wasn’t hard to slip amongst the crowd - each and every one of the guests was dressed in either a crisp dinner jacket or immaculate dress - the vast majority clutching champagne glasses in their stubby fingers. A waiter soon approached carrying with him his own tray of drinks, and both Jim and Sebastian gladly accepted and took a glass of champagne for themselves.

“So whereabouts is he then? Your buddy.” The blond muttered under his breath, raising the glass to his lips as he surveyed the enthusiastic crowd. They were all too snobbish for their own good.

Jim chuckled immediately at the question, resting a hand discreetly on Sebastian’s shoulder to reassure him.

“Oh he won’t be here yet,” he explained curtly. “He’s going to make his grand entrance after dinner. For now we just have to get acquainted with everyone.”

The tiger let out a long, audible groan at the prospect of having to introduce himself - and he quickly polished off the rest of his champagne to give himself a little boost of Dutch courage.

Jim led the way, and Sebastian immediately entailed.

There were lords and ladies, dukes of the highest accord, however most notably there were other criminals, hidden in plain sight amongst the dozens aristocrats as they themselves laughed and joked around. It was incredible to Sebastian to see just how many crooks and rogues there were, how easily they blended in amongst the rest of the guests. Jim on the other hand didn’t seem too concerned and had already disappeared to go and greet some familiar faces, leaving Sebastian on his own.

After fetching himself another glass of champagne, Moran wandered aimlessly around the ballroom, eventually growing too flustered as he decided to head outside to cool down. As Sebastian descended down the flight of stairs outside the house, the sound of the orchestra slowly begun to fade, as did the sounds of the remaining guests. It was much more peaceful out here, and the blond was accompanied by a gentle breeze as he set his champagne glass down upon the wall, and helped himself to a cigarette.

He would have been completely alone, if it hadn’t been for another man stood a few metres away, smoking his own cigarette.

The man in question looked young - far too young to be attending a party such as this. He was tall and slim, with a set of wide brown curls and blue eyes which appeared dull and uninterested. The man stood out from the rest of the guests, mainly because he wasn’t dressed in a fancy tuxedo or tie like the invitation had specifically requested for. Instead he wore a woollen jumper which stretched down to his knees, and a pair of trainers which were muddied and unlaced. The tips of his fingers and knuckles were red and irritated, much like Jim’s own hands.

The young man must have spotted Sebastian’s persistent stare, and he averted his gaze awkwardly towards the ground.

Feeling slightly guilty, Sebastian decided to attempt an introduction.

“Sorry for intruding,” the blond apologised warily, offering a strained smile which the stranger didn’t return. “I hate to ask…Have you got a light?”

The young man finally tilted his head upwards, reluctantly producing a lighter from his pocket and handing it over to Sebastian. The sounds of the orchestra had died down from inside now, only for Rossini’s overture to be replaced by a slow violin medley instead. Sebastian didn’t recognise the piece, but still it made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He couldn’t see Jim amongst the rest of the crowd now- fuck - he just had to pray that he hadn’t gotten himself into any more trouble.

“My brother’s inside, I wasn’t invited,” the young man explained suddenly, breaking the silence and immediately quelling Sebastian’s evident curiosity. His voice was deeper than Sebastian had expected it to be, but still crackly in places from where it still hadn’t fully settled. His accent was unquestionably English - the posh kind too.

“Then what are you doing here?” Moran questioned almost skeptically, sparking the lighter as he lit his own cigarette, before handing it back to the stranger. He pressed it to his lips, before exhaling.

“I reckon the place is swarming with criminals, Mycroft doesn’t believe me. I wanted to prove him wrong.”

“Mycroft?”

“My brother.” The boy explained bluntly, a scornful scoff escaping his lips at the mere mention of his relative. “I’m spying on every single guest that walks up this staircase. I saw you and that funny man arriving earlier… Why isn’t he here now?”

“You read a lot of spy books?” Sebastian hummed abruptly in an attempt to change the subject.

“Only James Bond when I was a child. But I stopped reading them when I was six, they were too flawed. The gadgets were stupid too.”

“And how old are you now?”

“I’m nineteen.”

The blond pulled a face. Though before he could say anything else it dawned on him that their conversation was no longer private. Upon looking up, he spotted a man stood at the top of the staircase, watching the pair with eagle eyes. The boy audibly huffed at the sight of the man, and Sebastian realised that this must be the dreaded ‘Mycroft’ who was now approaching them.

“Brother mine, what have I told you about loitering outside. You aren’t supposed to be here.”

The man in question spoke a lot more snidely than his younger brother, with a sharp, pointed nose and a slick of brown hair which in no way resembled the curly hair acquired by his sibling. Alike Sebastian, he was dressed in his own dinner jacket, however his lips were pursed and he looked less than impressed at the sight before him.

“Are you smoking a cigarette?”

The younger man’s face crumpled and he hastily shook his head, however he wasn’t quick enough to stop the older man from snatching the cigarette from his clasp and dropping it onto the floor, subsequently crushing it with his heel.

“Mycroft-“

“-Sherlock, you know what our mother will say if she finds out you’ve been smoking again. You remember what happened last time.”

The younger man looked down sullenly, whilst the older of the pair sighed and diverted his stern gaze away from his little brother and towards Sebastian instead.

“I do apologise. My dearest baby brother has a habit of bothering people.”

He paused, surveying Sebastian up and down before finally he appeared to register who he was speaking to.

“Ah yes, I saw you earlier in the ballroom. I assume you’re Mister...Ah, what’s his name? Morrburn? Yes, I believe you’re his friend. He’s a delightful conversationalist.”

Sebastian wanted to correct him, express that Jim’s surname was actually _Moriarty_ , though he could sense Sherlock eyeing him discreetly so instead he merely smiled and nodded.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Mycroft offered a cold, slightly-sneering smile in response.

“Well, like I said I’m sorry for the disturbance. I don’t think I caught your name-“

“-Sebastian,” the blond interjected quickly, eyes narrowing as he observed the man closely. “Sebastian Moran.”

He outstretched his hand out of politeness, and after a moment of hesitance Mycroft took it. They offered a brief handshake, all while both still glaring at each-other, and Sebastian’s grip on the other’s hand subconsciously tightened. Mycroft was the first to pull away. Sebastian could see the displeasure in his eyes.

“You ought to run along, Sebastian, you’re already late for the first course,” The man stated sourly, gesturing towards the house in the distance. Sebastian was so preoccupied that he hadn’t noticed that the orchestra had already stopped playing.

“I hope to see you again soon. Send my regards to Mister Morrburn.”

The blond watched as the man began to depart, taking a firm hold of his little brother’s arm despite the man’s protests and bickering. They both swiftly disappeared behind one of the walls, and once he was certain they were gone Sebastian managed a sigh of utter relief. But the man, Mycroft, had a point; He discarded his own cigarette, downing the remainder of his champagne before rushing back up the stone steps to the front-entrance once again, with the hope that he could slip back inside without any commotion.

By the time Sebastian arrived, the starters had already been and gone, and a swarm of waiters rushed around frantically trying to hand out main courses. He could see Jim sat at one of the large tables by himself, looking less than impressed by his lack of company. And when Sebastian came over to join him, Jim offered an incredulous scowl of disapproval.

“You’re late!” He hissed as Sebastian slotted clumsily into the seat next to him.

A waiter approached, placing two identical plates down in-front of them. Sebastian waited until the waiter left to attend to attend the other tables before peering down at his plate; it was filed with a generous portion of steak, roast potatoes, and vegetables. Judging by the colour the steak was almost certainly rare - he could already sense Jim’s disappointment.

“I spoke to Van Doren by the way, whilst you were off on your little adventure,” Jim stated curtly, picking up his fork and proceeding to stab at the steak using the prongs.

After a brief stare-off with his plate of food, Jim finally surrendered.

“I despise medium rare,” he under his breath, using his fork to dump the contents of his own dinner onto Sebastian’s plate instead.

The blond stared down at the vast quantity of food before him, and his stomach rumbled at the mere prospect of eating it all. Nevertheless, Sebastian picked up his own knife and fork and begun to dig in, helping himself to a few slithers of steak whilst Jim watched him with beady eyes.

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” The irishman demanded just as the blond was in the midst of taking the second bite of his food.

“I am listening, you haven’t given me a chance to eat my dinner yet.”

“Dinner can wait. If you want steak then we can stop by the steakhouse on our way home.”

Reluctantly, Sebastian lowered his fork and wiped his mouth clean with his napkin. Jim gave a hum of satisfaction, and beckoned one of the waiters over to take away their plates. The waiter seemed surprised by the abruptness of Jim’s request; however, not wanting to upset their guest, the waiter obediently nodded and disappeared off with their plates of food. Sebastian watched, rather disappointedly, as his dinner was whisked away, until Jim tapped him on the shoulder and he was forced to turn back around before he could dwell on it any longer.

“Tell me about your adventure,” the irishman decided, the rest of the guests now far too preoccupied with their own dinners.

“I met some people. They had stupid names, they didn’t tell me much about themselves,” Sebastian shrugged dismissively in response.

The tiger’s stomach offered a menacing growl, but Jim ignored it.

“What sort of names?” He persisted, a little more forcefully this time.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at Jim’s relentless questioning. The majority of guests were almost finished with their dinners, and Moran would have been a liar if he pretended that he wasn’t jealous. Jim’s fingers had started to drum against the surface of the table, and Sebastian could sense that he was getting impatient.

“The older one was called Mycroft, I didn’t catch his last name,” the blond continued. “He seemed to know you, I take it you’re best buddies.”

“That was Mycroft Holmes you just spoke to,” Jim informed him fruitfully. “I’ve done some research on him. He’s a part of the British government, in-fact he _is_ the government.”

Sebastian snorted at once.

“Come off it, Jim.”

“I mean it. Have a look for yourself.”

Jim subtly handed Sebastian a file under the table; Sebastian recognised the man in the photograph on the front immediately as being Mycroft Holmes, and he skimmed through the information listed until something at the bottom of the page caught his attention.

“I spoke to him too,” the blond revealed, gesturing towards the photograph of the curly-haired man, who was stood sulkily cowering away from the camera. It must have been an old photo, as he was still dressed in a school uniform.

“The brother?” Jim asked.

“Sherlock, I think.”

“Did he say anything interesting?”

Sebastian pulled a face.

“Only that he wasn’t invited. I found him by the entrance, he said something about looking for criminals. He reckons the place is filled with them.”

“That’s impossible, there’s no way he could possibly know that. Not unless he’s been reading Mycroft’s documents… But even then that’s highly unlikely!”

“But what about Van Doren?” Sebastian asked. “I thought he was the only reason you accepted the stupid invite in the first place.”

“Forget about Van Doren, he was a bore. Tell me more about Sherlock Holmes.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, however he was cut off swiftly when their desserts were placed in-front of them - two small dishes of trifle. Unlike his steak, this time Jim eagerly picked up his spoon and began to tuck in, scooping up some cream from the top and placing it in his mouth.

“Your teeth are going to rot and fall out if you keep eating junk,” the blond grumbled under his breath, watching his boss with growing discontent.

“Moran-“

“-Fine,” Sebastian muttered eventually in defeat, flipping over the file as he began to list off the information regarding the youngest Holmes.

“It says here that he’s from Surrey, youngest son of Siger and Martha Holmes.”

“And?”

“And he’s smart. Really smart. His parents’ tried to push him to go to Oxford or Cambridge but he said no… apparently he was more focused on becoming a detective or something.”

Jim, who had been practically ecstatic for the most part, suddenly frowned at the mention of Sherlock’s intelligence, his face crumpling in confusion and dismay. He placed down his spoon without even having finished his trifle, before glaring accusingly at his counterpart.

“Surely he can’t be that smart, he’s only just finished school.”

“That’s what the file says,” Sebastian shrugged, handing it back over to Jim who hastily snatched it from his grip and decided to read it for himself.

The irishman skipped over the trivial parts about Surrey and the summer holidays the family had been on, instead focusing on the latter of the page where it spoke more in-depth about Sherlock Holmes’ personality. The file hadn’t even attempted to sugar-coat matters; it talked loosely about the man’s lack of empathy and inability to interpret social cues, however for the most-part it focused on his intelligence.

Sebastian had been right, whoever had written the article certainly seemed to enjoy boasting about Sherlock Holmes’ intellect - in-fact the man’s high IQ seemed to be his only redeeming feature. Jim reread the information as many times as he could muster, before his jealousy finally got the better of him and he shoved the piece of paper spitefully back into his jacket pocket. He got up before Sebastian even had the chance to stop him, beckoning for the blond to follow as he stormed past the crowd of diners.

“But you haven’t finished your trifle yet-“ Sebastian exclaimed in a flustered tone.

But it was too late, Jim was already gone.

By the time Sebastian reached the entrance, he could already see the outline of Jim waiting for him in the car. He muttered something discreetly under his breath, hopping down the final few steps before opening the vehicle door and climbing into the backseat beside Jim. Jim’s clothes stank of nicotine. _‘Smoking in the car again_ ,’ Sebastian thought to himself, as the car engine snarled and they began their departure from the estate.

The drive home seemed to take far longer than it had done earlier, though Jim reckoned it was because they were both tired and equally just as grumpy. They passed the border of Kent and in to Surrey; Jim had his head rested upon Sebastian’s lap whilst the blond stroked through his hair gently. Neither man spoke much, especially Jim whose eyes were closed and was on the verge of falling asleep.

When the car eventually arrived in Kensington, it was nearing midnight. Sebastian didn’t have the heart to wake up Jim, who had fallen asleep just as they were passing through Whitechapel, so after thanking the driver he carefully scooped the sleeping irishman up into his arms and carried him across to the front-door. He was surprised that Jim was able to sleep so peacefully, especially considering how furious he had been over Sherlock Holmes, but the evening had been long for the both of them, and Jim was certainly in need of a good rest.

It was a short battle trying to remove Jim’s coat and shoes, however once Sebastian had finally managed to prize them off he carried Jim upstairs to bed. He settled Jim down under the covers, making sure that he was still asleep before deciding to tend to the cuts on the back of his hand. They still looked sore, and showed no sign of healing either. There was still a bottle of Sudocrem in the cupboard, and it wasn’t hard to locate either, and once Moran was satisfied he took a seat at the end of the bed and began to apply the cream gently to Jim’s skin. The cuts and scratches looked relatively new, meaning that the irishman must have done them within the past couple of days.

Jim appeared blissfully unaware of what was happening as Sebastian finished with the cream, placing it back on its respective shelf before returning to the bedroom and clambering into the bed beside his counterpart. Jim didn’t snore, though he sometimes made funny noises in his sleep - small mumbles and sounds which you could only hear if you listened closely. Tonight was one of those nights; Jim had started to fidget and mumble by the time Sebastian had joined him under the covers, and instinctively the blond wrapped his arms around the shorter of the two to try and soothe him. The fidgeting soon stopped as did the quiet murmurs, allowing for a peaceful night for the both of them. Sebastian could have sworn that Jim had mumbled something about Holmes, but he tried not to dwell on it. It was probably just his mind playing tricks on him.


	19. Wellington's Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian says goodbye to an old friend.

It was raining on the day of Wellington’s funeral - cold, heavy rain which battered against the windows of the chapel as the service commenced. The service started with a reading from the Bible, something which Sebastian considered to be awfully odd considering Wellington hadn’t been a religious man in the slightest.

He had the honour of sitting on the front row, beside Wellington’s wife Maria, who in turn was donned in a dull, black dress. It was strange to see Maria so out of character; Sebastian was used to the endless colour, the bright daffodils and tulips in the garden and the countless array of floral dresses. The Bible reading had been accompanied by gleeful shrieks and gurgles from the front-row, where the chubby infant sat in Maria’s lap, wriggling around restlessly. Baby Sophie was the only guest not grieving, then again why should she? She was only a baby after all.

She’d probably have no memories of her father once she was grown up, only stories and photographs to comfort her. She’d probably ask lots of questions - about whether or not daddy was a good man and what kind of sandwiches he liked, that sort of thing. And whether Maria would tell her children the truth about Wellington’s accident or not was out of Sebastian’s control - but children were curious specimens. They’d find out someday.

Little Maisie sat politely beside her mother, now five years old with a neat brown plait and frilly pink socks which reached her knees. She looked older now compared to the photograph that Wellington had first shown Sebastian, yet the curious innocence in her eyes still had yet to fade. Her own hand was clutched tightly to Maria’s, who in turn was gently massaging the palm of her daughter’s hand to try and comfort her. Maisie looked the spitting image of her father - Sebastian was sure that Wellington would have been immensely proud.

The service finished finally with Mr Blue Sky - a song that had supposedly been specially picked out by Wellington. Sebastian had a feeling that Jim would have appreciated the song if he was there, he was always listening to some long-forgotten track from the 1970s whilst he worked.

But Jim had refused to come, apparently his priorities were elsewhere.

_Oh Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why you had to hide away for so long_

_Where did we go wrong?_

_Hey there Mr. Blue, we’re so pleased to be with you_

_Look around see what you do_

_Everybody smiles at you_

Sebastian wasn’t quite sure what Jim meant by ‘elsewhere’ - though he had a horrible suspicion that it involved Sherlock Holmes somehow. It had all erupted so suddenly, Jim’s new fascination with the youngest Holmes. At first Sebastian had tried not to dwell on it too much; if the irishman was too busy fretting over Sherlock Holmes then surely that would serve as a distraction from the bad thoughts, and Sebastian would no longer have to worry about walking in to find Jim hanging from a rope.

_Mr. Blue, you did it right_

_But soon comes Mr. Night creepin' over_

_Now his hand is on your shoulder_

_Never mind I'll remember you this_

_I'll remember you this way_

But the opposite had happened. Jim was spiralling into an endless abyss of danger and this time Sebastian wasn’t sure if he could save him. Jim had stopped taking his medication, and even when he did it often resulted in him becoming extremely hyper, or so depressed that he didn’t leave the house for days at a time. When he did leave the house on the rare occasion, it was only ever to the office and back. Nobody was allowed on the fourth floor anymore, not Sebastian or even Nadia who had subsequently resigned the week prior after Jim had thrown the stereo at her head during one of his episodes. Sebastian sometimes left food and mugs of tea on the kitchen table in-case Jim returned home, but whenever he came down to check the food was always untouched and the tea was stone cold.

Jim’s constant mood swings seemed to have an effect on the whole house. Some nights Jim would return home in high spirits; they would laugh, kiss, and dance around the living room until the early hours of the morning listening to disco tracks on full-volume. Other nights were considerably less enjoyable; they were the nights when the majority of arguments broke out, when the house became flooded with screaming, swearing, and Jim would cry in bed until his voice became hoarse and he could no longer form a proper sentence. Sebastian didn’t like those nights very much, and he doubted Jim did either.

He himself had become restless, agitated to the point where most nights were spent up at the Golden Fox in an attempt to drown his sorrows in drink. The alcohol only helped to numb his senses temporarily, before eventually he was plunged back into his chaotic thoughts once more. His best friend had killed himself, and it seemed like Jim was following the same path, that was if Sherlock Holmes didn’t kill him first.

Wellington had made the decision to be buried, not cremated. Sebastian, along with Wellington’s brothers and uncles, had helped to carry the coffin to the burial site. Despite his grief he had felt proud in that moment, carrying his friend with an overwhelming sense of dignity towards his final resting place. The consistent rainfall hadn’t made the job any easier, but they had persisted nevertheless, and soon enough Wellington had been buried under the soil with a granite headstone to commemorate who he was.

_CHRISTOPHER ‘WELLINGTON’ MURPHY_

_1978-2003_

_Loving husband, father, and friend_

Sebastian had never heard anybody refer to Wellington as ‘Christopher’ before, not until the name had been used by the vicar during the service. Even Maria had never referred to her husband as ‘Christopher’, then again she had never called him Wellington either, apparently the nickname had come about whilst he was still away fighting in Afghanistan and had stuck ever since. But Christopher sounded too posh, far too snobby for a man who had turned out to be the complete opposite.

At the wake, Moran had met Wellington’s father for the first time. He was an old, dishevelled man who, unlike Sebastian, didn’t appear to be too upset by his son’s passing. They had shared a smoke and a drink outside in the garden, and it was only afterwards that Maria had informed Sebastian that the old man suffered from dementia. It was highly unlikely that he even remembered who his son was at all.

After the wake, Maria had offered the blond a lift home. Maisie and Sophie were already fast asleep and being cared for by relatives, and the drive back to Kensington was a long and exhausting one - especially for Sebastian who had already endured his fair share of alcohol that evening.

“Sebastian?”

“Hm?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

They arrived at the house before Sebastian had time to respond. Instead of giving an answer Maria’s question, he simply gave her a long, warm embrace, before saying his goodbyes and climbing out of the car. She waved from the window before departing, her tear-stained cheeks still glistening in the light from the street-lamps.

“See you soon, Maria. Thank you.”

The lights were still on inside the house, which meant that Jim was still inevitably awake. Sebastian used his set of keys to unlock the front-door, stepping through to the hallway before eagerly tugging off his suit and tie. Since Jim was no help, he had been forced to try and tie his own tie that morning. It had taken six gruelling attempts and a large amount go swearing before the blond had finally given in, and decided that a wonky tie would have to do.

The irishman wasn’t in the living room when he went to check, nor was he in the kitchen. The lights in the kitchen were still on, whilst the door to one of the cupboards was slightly ajar from where somebody had forgotten to shut it properly. The packet of chocolate biscuits was mysteriously missing again; ‘typical’ Sebastian thought to himself as he slammed the cupboard door shut and went to investigate upstairs.

“Jim? Did you take all the biscuits again?!”

There came no response, not that Sebastian had been particularly expecting one.

Upon walking into the bedroom he found Jim sprawled out upon the carpet, a half-eaten biscuit clamped between his teeth and a hazy look in his eyes as though he had been crying. Sebastian recognised the scene immediately.

“Another bad night?”

Jim nodded.

The blond sighed and carefully approached his counterpart before coming to lay down next to him, staring up towards the ceiling whilst the sound of ambulance sirens rattled past outside. Jim showed no sign of finishing the rest of the biscuit, so Sebastian reluctantly prized it from his mouth and tossed it aside so that he wouldn’t accidentally choke on it. The once-pristine room was now littered with endless crumbs and piles of discarded clothing; Sebastian used to always claim that he would one day clean up the room, however over time he had simply stopped caring.

“How was the funeral?” Jim asked eventually in a croaky voice, his gaze still projected up towards the ceiling where a faint crack had started to appear in the paintwork.

Sebastian shrugged.

“It was nice… We buried Wellington by the riverside. Maria made brownies.”

“I see you were in charge of carrying the coffin.”

“Were you spying on me again?”

“Obviously. I’ve got eyes everywhere.”

Sebastian cursed under his breath for being so stupid. He should have realised that Jim had sent out his cronies to spy on him again. It wasn’t the first time Jim had done it and it certainly wouldn’t be the last either; Sebastian had first spotted them back in December, the same three men that had been eyeing him suspiciously whilst he was out on a job in Aberdeen. He rolled over and addressed the shorter man with a stern glare.

“Jim-“

“-It was just a precautionary measure. You know I have to look out for you because I love you, Sebastian.”

‘I love you’. The words stung. They stung because Sebastian wasn’t sure how true they were anymore, whether Jim merely said them just for the fun of it. He wouldn’t put it past him. Jim’s behaviour was dangerous, reckless to the point where Sebastian couldn’t stop it anymore. Back in the old days it had been okay; Sebastian had been able to help him, cradle him on those bad nights until everything was okay again. He kissed his wounds better, made tea, and cuddled in bed until the birds started to chirp and the morning sun rose. Jim never used to say those fateful three words, _I love you,_ but he had never needed to.

“Why weren’t you there?” Sebastian asked flatly, unable to restrain his anger any longer. “You were his friend. Why weren’t you there?”

“Business, darling. You know how things are. Sherlock was attending a lecture at Kings College today on the Origin of Species, I thought I might tag along.”

“Don’t call me darling.”

Then what am I supposed to call you?”

“How about you call me Sherlock. That would cheer you up, wouldn’t it?” Sebastian snapped dryly, getting to his feet before Jim even had a chance to protest. He snatched his coat from the side, tugging it on forcefully before rounding on his smaller counterpart.

“Where are my ciggies?”

“Smoked them all,” Jim, who was still sprawled on the floor, replied bluntly. “I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

His mouth was still caked in biscuit crumbs.

“Those were my last ones,” Sebastian snarled, not that Jim even appeared to be paying any attention.

The irishman was too busy rummaging around the packet of biscuits for any last stragglers, a quest which soon proved to be futile upon realisation that there were none left, and the packet was empty. With a dissatisfied grunt, Jim used the back of his sleeve to wipe away the lingering crumbs from his face, before all of a sudden a smile twitched at his lips.

“It was just a packet of cigarettes, darling. You’re acting like it’s the end of the-“

Jim didn’t manage to finish his sentence, not before Sebastian lunged towards him, grappling him to the ground. He hadn’t had time to defend himself properly, and with a dull thud his head struck against the bedroom floor. Sebastian’s hand wrapped itself around Jim’s neck, the other attempting to stop Jim from resisting. He was practically on top of him now, teeth bared like a predator about to strike the fatal blow upon its prey.

“My best friend fucking died, Jim. For once why can’t you show just the tiniest ounce of emotion?!”

Jim was squirming in discomfort, hands clawing desperately at his throat for Sebastian to let go whilst his legs flailed and kicked. It was starting to hurt now; the pressure against his windpipe made it hard to breathe and equally just as hard to speak, so much so that all he could utter were two, raspy pleas;

“Let…Go…”

Upon realising how much pain the smaller man was in, the grip to his throat slowly loosened and Sebastian let go reluctantly. His teeth were no longer bared, his eyes were now wide and alarmed as if he had snapped out of whatever trance he had been stuck in. Jim was on the floor in-front of him, curled up in a tight, protective ball whilst his hands gently massaged his throat and temple. Sebastian couldn’t see his face, however judging by the shaky, muffled noises, Jim was crying.

“Jim-“

“-Fuck off, ‘Bastian.”

The irishman slowly raised his head, and this time Sebastian could see his eyes, which were bloodshot and puffy. The blond attempted to reach out, but Jim had already recoiled back into his tight ball again. So, with his chest tight with regret, Sebastian unwillingly took a step back. The cries continued, louder and more desperate this time, with certain parts still raspy and strained from where his windpipe was damaged. They sounded almost childlike, or at least to Sebastian they did anyway, which made it even worse.

It reminded him of the first ever fight he had been involved in, aged seven in the playground of the prep school back in Oxford. Jack Carmichael had been the victim - a short, tubby boy in Sebastian’s maths class whose front-teeth still hadn’t grown through yet. He had a habit of picking on Sebastian, of calling him names and stealing the packets of sweets that he often kept tucked inside his pockets for lunchtime. On the day in question however it had been different - Jack Carmichael had made fun of Sebastian’s dead brother.

He didn’t remember much, his life in Oxford had been so long ago that the majority of his memories were hazy. Yet deeply-ingrained in his head was still the image of Carmichael - blood spouting from his nose and his face red and tear-stained like an angry tomato. One of the teachers had carted Sebastian away after that, still writhing and crying at the top of his lungs. His father had been out at sea when the incident occurred, deployed in the Caribbean or something, and he had quietly begged the school not to phone his mother. But unsurprisingly they hadn’t listened; Sebastian had been whisked off in his mother’s red Vauxhall the very same afternoon, and sent to bed that night without any dinner as punishment. The following morning when Sebastian came downstairs for breakfast she had asked why he had fought Jack, but the blond had simply dug into his bowl of cereal and refused to answer.

“I already told you… fuck _off_.”

Jim’s tone had been adamant, so without a word Sebastian nodded obediently and shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind him. He could still hear his counterpart’s raspy cries as he made his way down the staircase, past the bouquet of flowers that had been left for him by Maria, before heading out of the door and slamming it behind him.

The bitter wind was cold and ruthless as Sebastian departed down the street, hands shoved into his pockets whilst his teeth chattered away. His hands were still tingling and he couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of Jim’s throat in his grasp. He hadn’t meant to snap like that. He had been tired, intoxicated.

Grieving.

Sebastian figured he could go back the following morning, maybe present Jim with some flowers or a bottle of Prosecco from the supermarket that he knew Jim liked. He could get a card too, not that he was certain Jim particularly liked cards. He continued walking until he reached the high street, waiting with baited breath to see if any of the shops were still open. But to his dismay all of the lights were off - from the card shop to even the supermarket which didn’t open until six that morning. The lights were still on inside the Golden Fox however, Sebastian could just about see the barman from inside serving up the final few pints of the night.

Sebastian lingered by the window for a few minutes, attempting to get a better look inside. The place looked warm and full of life; it must have been karaoke night since a large crowd had gathered, all of whom looked particularly plastered at this point. The urge to join them was strong, but Sebastian stopped himself just before he had the chance to even place his foot in the threshold. Alcohol had only plunged the evening into disaster, and he couldn’t risk letting it happen again.

The barman must have spotted him from inside, as he waved an encouraging hand for Sebastian to come and join them, however the blond warily shook his head in return and turned away. He’d wait until morning before grabbing the flowers and going home, that way they would both have a chance to calm themselves down and get some rest. For now he walked, his anger slowly beginning to dissipate as he walked across Battersea Bridge, admiring the Thames as the water coursed restlessly below his feet. He came to stand by the railings, staring uneasily down towards the depths whilst his hands gripped to the metal barrier, turning his knuckles white.

His feet moved clumsily in an attempt to hoist himself up over the barrier, and soon enough he was stood on top of the railing looking down towards the Thames. Sebastian closed his eyes, and outstretched his arms, until suddenly a voice caught him off guard.

“I figured you’d go straight to the pub. I guess I assumed it was my job to stop you.”

The familiar Irish drawl was enough for Sebastian to realise who was there, and upon opening his eyes he was met by the sight of Jim, stood by the railing of the bridge looking up towards him.

Jim didn’t greet him, he merely smiled.

“Turns out you had other ideas on your mind.”

Reluctantly, Sebastian dropped his arms to his side and climbed down from on top of the railing, coming to join Jim. It was hard to distinguish the irishman’s expression properly in the darkness, though by the looks of it he was no longer crying, nor did he seem particularly upset. Then again the man was particularly skilled in hiding his true colours.

“You got your little spies to follow me again?” The blond asked out of curiosity, wrapping an arm around his counterpart who slowly returned the gesture.

“No, it was only me this time,” Jim admitted truthfully, voice muffled from where his face was buried against Sebastian’s.

The embrace was only short-lived, and soon enough Jim had already pulled away in order to straighten himself out. He brushed the droplets of rain from his hair and jacket, giving Sebastian the opportunity to catch his breath. The blond slumped over the railing as the realisation came fooding in, his head rested against the metal as he emitted loud, heavy groans. The cold wind nipped at his skin, stinging his eyes and the tips of his ears.

“I didn’t think you were such a prat,” Jim admitted, coming to stand beside Sebastian before rummaging around in his pocket and offering a packet of cigarettes. “I instructed one of the boys to bring me a packet. I assumed you’d want one.”

Slowly, the blond raised his head and offered a tired smile. He plucked a cigarette from the box and lit it carefully, before pressing the damned thing to his lips. Jim watched with interest as he did so, before slipping the packet back into his pocket again. He didn’t take one for himself this time.

“Did you really think the fall would be high enough to kill you?”

Sebastian exhaled the smoke and grunted in reply.

“Well I’d hoped so.”

Jim seemed satisfied with the answer, resting his arms upon the railing so that he could peer down towards the water below. Usually there were seagulls or the occasional duck bobbing along the surface absent-mindedly, but tonight it was late, and the stormy weather made for no pleasant sunbathing.

“Grief makes us do funny things,” the irishman mused aloud suddenly, looking up towards where the first glimpse of dawn had begun to peek through the clouds. It was starting to grow light again, meaning their little outing wasn’t going to be private for much longer.

Sebastian eventually discarded the cigarette, flicking it over the edge of the bridge as it toppled into the river below. He didn’t wait to see if the cigarette had landed or not before turning to face Jim.

“I can’t help you, Jim.”

“I know.”

The irishman was no longer smiling; he was still staring down at the river below this, time with a defeated expression. He took a moment to compose himself, clearing his throat before he stood up again. One of the streetlights was casting a warm glow down onto Jim, and this time Sebastian could see the scars illuminated on the back of his wrists and hands.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he apologised finally.

“I know you didn’t.”

“Please, Jim-“

“-You’re a good man, Sebastian Moran. You never meant to do anything wrong.”

Jim dug into his pocket once more, pulling out the packet of cigarettes before holding them out for Sebastian to take.

"Take them. I believe they're yours."

Sebastian sniffed, his lips curling into a bittersweet smile as he took the box from Jim, storing them safely away in his own coat pocket. A group of construction workers stood chattering at the end of the bridge, and the blond couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous at the prospect of them intruding on their conversation. Jim must have noticed, and he offered Sebastian’s hand a small squeeze of reassurance.

“Will I see you again?” The taller man asked at last.

Dawn had broken, the faint orange and red beams of light attempting to break their way through the clouds with not much success. Jim let go of Sebastian’s hand, and the two of them stood there shivering in the cold.

“I don’t know,” Jim sighed simply. “I might be dead, I might not be. It’s hard to predict the future.”

Sebastian’s face crumpled.

“Please don’t be dead, Jim.”

Jim didn’t say anything to that, in-fact he didn’t say anything at all. He leant up on his tip-toes, offering Sebastian one final ‘goodbye’ kiss on the lips, and that was it. Sebastian’s lips had been cold and ashy, and soon enough the irishman was embarking on his journey, becoming nothing more than a tiny spec of light before he finally disappearing off down one of the side roads.

Sebastian couldn’t but watch as he left, teeth gritted and his eyes stinging with tears. When the construction workers passed by he hastily rubbed his eyes with his sleeve - if they asked then he’d blame his tears on the wind. But they didn’t, they just kept walking.

The walk home was odd after that, as was the inevitable silence that greeted Sebastian when he entered the house. Maria’s flowers were still propped against the door, as were a pair of Jim’s work shoes which had been dumped by the radiator. The house still smelt of Jim even despite the fact he wasn’t there, the obnoxious smell of nicotine and expensive body cologne, and Sebastian couldn’t help but despise it.

If he thought hard enough then he could imagine Jim’s laugh too, the shrill shrieking sound that could often be heard whenever Jim was watching a comedy show or that time when the next-door neighbour’s cat had been hit by a car. He was truly an intriguing species, even if Sebastian still didn’t understand him. He had never understood him, not even from the first day when they had woken up together. But he preferred not knowing. That was what made it so fun.

“Go fuck yourself, Jim Moriarty.”


	20. Cornwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim spends his thirtieth birthday in Cornwall, and comes face to face with a new kind of threat.

A dead magpie was laying on the road that morning when Jim arrived at the office. He would have walked straight past it, if it wasn’t for the simple fact that he pitied the poor being. He stood over the little creature for a few minutes, its feathers torn in numerous places and its wing broken and bent out of shape, leading to a trail of dried blood on the tarmac. A cat must have got it. Either that or some nasty brats had attacked it during the night with sticks and rocks.

Reluctantly, Jim scooped the magpie up in his hands, carrying it over to one of the neighbouring flowerbeds so that he could give it a decent send-off. He used his hands to scoop out a small pile of dirt, placing the withered bird inside the hole before quickly brushing the soil back over it again. Once he had finished, he took a step back to observe his work; the burial had been clumsily done, made even worse by the fact that Jim’s hands and fingernails were now covered in soil.

He cursed under his breath, attempting to shake away the remainder of dirt, which ultimately proved to be rather unsuccessful. In fear that he would get his Westwood grubby, Jim decided to head into the office and locate a sink instead. Multiple employees passed him on the way to the bathroom, and the majority greeted him with the shrill ‘good morning, boss’ that he had become so accustomed to over the last few years.

Over time Jim had learnt to accept it, though on the odd occasion it still felt incredibly strange.He didn’t care so much for the greetings, it was more so the looks of fear he received when stalking the corridors. Whilst his network had skyrocketed, so had his temper; screaming fits could often be heard from the conference room, as could the sound of gunshots if Jim became particularly displeased with a client. His temper was what made him infamous, as did his affliction with Sherlock Holmes. But even Sherlock Holmes had obtained his own little pet now, an ex-soldier by the name of Watson supposedly. Jim made a habit of scribbling out Watson’s face whenever he appeared on the front of the morning paper.

After washing his hands, Jim lounged back against the sink, retrieving his phone from his pocket and firing off a text to his assistant to meet him outside. He had news to tell her. The text was only short, and once Jim had finished he slid the phone into his back-pocket, before turning his attention towards the mirror.

He looked older now; his baby-face had completely disappeared, giving the appearance of a much slender, well-structured jaw and face, whilst his silky skin had started to crease in some areas. His hairline had also given hints that it was starting to recede, something that Jim still wasn’t particularly pleased about. The suit jacket he adorned was a Vivienne Westwood, one that he had gotten specially tailored whilst down in Oxford Street. Jim considered suits to be much more his forte now - or perhaps it was just because he enjoyed exercising his wealth. The latter seemed reasonable. People tended to pay more attention to you when you wore a suit.

When Jim returned from the bathroom, the assistant was already waiting for him. Jim gave an immediate hum of satisfaction and went to join her.

“Hello darling, I just wanted to let you know that I’m going away for a few days,” the irishman chimed nonchalantly, following her towards the front-desk where a mound of paperwork sat piled on top.

He could only blame himself for the abundance of paperwork; the network was still in disarray after the mess caused by the damned cabbie Jim had agreed to sponsor, and that didn’t even include the mess he had gotten himself in to with MI5.

“Of course, sir. May I ask where?” The assistant chipped in politely.

“Oh…Nowhere special,” the irishman shrugged dismissively. “Just to see an old friend.”

“Oh, and sir?”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday.”

A lazy smile spread across Jim’s lips, and he waved a hand of gratitude towards the assistant.

“Thirty… I must be getting old.”

Cornwall was a place that Jim had never expected to travel to, especially not on his own. He had always just assumed it to be full of sandy beaches and sheep, a rather uninviting place for a man such as Jim who loved the city so much. Besides, whenever he travelled somewhere it was usually with the network, aside from the one occasion when he had treated himself to a trip to Morocco, but even that had been admittedly lonely. Jim hadn’t found anybody since Moran; there had been hook ups, more than plenty of them, but even they were no longer as exciting as they had once been.

The train from Paddington Station that morning had been crowded, and Jim had found himself forced to share a row with a particularly noisy family, a family in which the young boy from the row behind wouldn’t stop kicking his seat throughout the entire journey. In-fact the majority of the carriage was filled with either elderly couples or families with young children; the families in question were almost all carrying with them buckets and spades and beach towels, and Jim couldn’t help but feel awfully out of place in his suit and tie.

Five hours later the train made its final stop, and Jim grabbed his suitcase from the luggage rack before swiftly departing. The platform was virtually empty, mainly because the other passengers had almost all gotten off at stops along the way. For an autumn morning the air was still surprisingly warm, and Jim, suitcase in hand, decided to bask in the sun whilst he waited for company by the train station steps. He had been offered a lift from the station to St Ives, an offer that he couldn’t refuse considering that he didn’t know his way around.

It was ten minutes later when, to Jim’s horror, the motorbike came gliding round the corner, stopping promptly in front of the station steps where he had been sat. The engine grounded to a halt, and as soon as the driver removed his helmet Jim was greeted by the sight of Sebastian Moran.

“You’re late,” the irishman stated sternly.

“I thought we agreed that I would pick you up at two?”

“It’s ten minutes past two. That’s late.”

Sebastian, alike Jim, had changed over the years. He himself had turned thirty a few years prior to Jim, and along with with his thirtieth birthday had come the growth of the horrible beard that the man was now sporting. Jim had expressed his hatred towards the beard during multiple visits in the past, but according to Sebastian ‘Annie likes it’, so for now the beard had to stay.

The irishman had never liked her. Annie, the witch.

But despite the growth of the horrible beard Sebastian seemed genuinely happy, something which still to this day was bittersweet. A few months after his and Jim’s split, Jim had received a telegram from Sebastian, who had taken up a position in the British Army. Jim couldn’t say that he had been particularly surprised by the news; the blond’s whole family life had revolved around the military, and the irishman was almost certain that becoming a soldier had been a way to honour both his brother and Wellington somehow.

All throughout Sebastian’s time in Afghanistan, Jim had been filled with the hope that once Sebastian came home they could resume what they had once had. He had carried this hope with him for three long years until finally a dishonourable discharge had put Moran out of action, and instead of returning home to London, he had instead fled to the more secluded town of St Ives in Cornwall. For years afterwards Sebastian had been radio silent, until only a few months ago when he had returned out of the blue, this time with a new girlfriend ‘Annie’ in his life.

“Well, hop on then,” Sebastian prompted eagerly, patting the seat behind him for Jim to come and join him.

“You’re expecting me to ride that horrible thing?”

“Not without protection of course.”

Sebastian outstretched the spare helmet, and reluctantly Jim snatched it from his grip before mounting the back of the motorbike. He placed the helmet on over his head, cursing internally at the realisation it would ruin his hair, though he didn’t have much time to dwell on it before Sebastian had already started to rev up the engine.

“I thought you sold this?” Jim called over the roaring noise of the engine.

“What, old Maggie here? No Jim, she’s family. I wont give her up that easily.”

Sebastian took a different route back to the cottage, mainly to give Jim a chance to admire the sea. They sped down various different lanes and past old fishing ports, all whilst the sea waves lapped peacefully in the background. Jim couldn’t help but notice how peaceful everything was as they drove, how still the sea appeared to be, all apart from the engine of Sebastian’s motorbike making that terrible growling noise. London was nowhere near as calm at this, even when everybody had gone to bed. Jim had kept the old house that he and Sebastian had once shared, not that he spent much time in it. The majority of nights were spent either at the office or under the covers of another man’s bed. And when he did go home it was noisy. Far too noisy.

The cottage in question overlooked the beach and had a perfect view of the sea, with painted blue walls and a shed in the garden, no doubt for Sebastian to store his motorbike inside. The outer walls were lined with lavenders, which had begun to shrivel up and die from the increasingly cold weather.

“Is your bike popular with the locals?” Jim asked out of curiosity once they had arrived safely and the engine had been switched off.

Feeling a little nauseous, the irishman tottered off of the bike and removed his helmet, hunching over for a few moments to try and compose himself. His hair had unsurprisingly been jostled during the journey, as had his suit with left the irishman looking almost like he had just stepped out of a tornado. Jim eventually stood up again, flattening his hair with the palm of his hand and straightening out his tie whilst Sebastian laughed at the question.

“The locals?” Sebastian scoffed. “They fucking despise me.”

They hadn’t been left alone for long, not until the front-door opened and a large, hairy creature came bounding excitedly towards them. Sebastian, who had finished storing away the bike and helmets, greeted the dog with a grin of delight, clambering onto the ground so that the dog could engulf him and lick his face. Jim simply stood back and watched, his lips pursed and his face pale with discontent. The dog was much larger and hairier than their old poor dog had been, and was relatively new judging by the gleaming collar around its neck. The beastly creature would have eaten poor Kirk alive given the opportunity.

Sebastian continued to laugh and wrestle with the dog on the floor, all up until the figure of the woman in the doorway stopped him in his tracks.

“Annie, love! Say hello to Jim, I just collected him from the station.”

Annie was a petite woman, with rounded glasses and short, brunette hair which fell just below her shoulders. She was always wearing some sort of knitted garment, which this time appeared to be a knitted yellow sweater hidden underneath her usual dungarees. Jim had always compared Annie to a china doll, that if you weren’t careful with her then she would break and shatter into a million pieces. And sometimes he was tempted to do just that, to break her or smash her porcelain head in.

“Did you take Jim out on that damned bike again? He looks sick as a dog,” Annie asked, offering a glare of disapproval towards Sebastian who just grinned in return.

“Jim’s fine!” Sebastian called back. “He loved it!”

The woman scoffed, slowly approaching Jim as she rested her hand comfortingly against his shoulder. She was smiling, though the irishman could tell that the smile was only half-hearted.

“Sorry about him. Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable at the table, lunch will be ready soon.”

Jim was quick to shake away Annie’s touch, flashing a quick, strained smile before he followed the two lovebirds into the house and towards the dining room.

“You really didn’t have to prepare all this food for me, you know,” he murmured sheepishly, taking a seat at the end of the table whilst Annie fussed around with the dishes.

“Sebastian insisted. He said you deserve a proper birthday celebration.”

Lunch consisted of battered haddock, roast potatoes, and peas. Annie’s cooking wasn’t great, and despite his evident disgust Jim could see how desperately Sebastian was trying to appease his girlfriend, even offering his plate out for seconds. Jim on the other hand had barely touched his food, and made no attempt at hiding it. He dribbled a few peas around his plate aimlessly before giving in and placing his fork down. He could sense Sebastian eyeing him closely, and swiftly sent him a harsh kick under the table when Annie wasn’t looking, causing the blond to jolt upright in pain.

Once lunch had been cleared up, Jim was presented with a bowl of ice-cream,ice-cream which had clearly been plucked straight from the freezer. According to Annie, she had ‘forgotten’ to buy a cake, but Jim had forced a grimace and assured her that it was fine. The ice cream tasted cheap, and Jim only managed one mouthful .

“Can I tell him, Sebby?”

Annie had been the first to break the silence after finishing her own bowl of ice-cream, a feverish smile twitching at her lips as she spoke. Sebastian, who was struggling to finish his own bowl, cleared his throat uncertainly and lowered his spoon to properly address his girlfriend.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” He pleaded. “Jim’s had a long journey he’s probably-“

“-We’re expecting!”

As soon as the words left Annie’s lips, it was as though Jim’s whole world had come crashing down around him. His lips parted slightly as he struggled to comprehend the news, his throat drying up and rendering him unable to speak. Sebastian sunk back against his seat awkwardly, not daring to look Jim in the eye, whilst Annie was far too gleeful to even spot the tension around the table.

“Sorry for not telling you sooner. We um… We wanted to keep it a surprise,” The blond apologised gruffly, and as Jim came back to his senses he could see the genuine guilt in Sebastian’s eyes.

Not that it made him feel any better.

“The baby’s due in the spring,” Annie continued, completely ignoring Jim whose face had now turned a sickly white as though he was about to be sick. “We had an appointment with the midwife yesterday. It’s a boy.”

Jim couldn’t remember what excuse he had given to leave the room, it had all been somewhat of a blur. All he could remember was stumbling out of the dining room, his legs heavy and close to giving in, before heading out into the garden and collapsing down onto the grass. He could see the sea perfectly from where he was sat, the calm water tainted with an orange glow from the dimming, evening sun. He stared at the sea without getting it much thought; and in that moment he wished for nothing more than for the sea to swallow him whole, to pull him adrift and far away from the news that Sebastian Moran was going to have son.

He was having a baby without him.

Sebastian had always wanted kids. Jim remembered clearly the countless arguments they had shared in the car or in the office about adopting, about how gentle Sebastian had been in comforting his sister on the night that he had killed their mother, from drying her tears to rocking her gently in his lap until she fell asleep. All the signs had been there, and Jim shouldn’t have been so shocked by the news, but if Sebastian was truly having a baby with another woman then that meant that it would be the end for them both. Once the baby was born then Sebastian would forgot about him; soon enough the visits and the phone calls would stop, and any trace of Jim would be replaced by Sebastian and his perfect new family.

Jim had been too busy staring at the sea to realise that the back-door had opened, and Sebastian was traipsing through the grass towards him. The scruffy mongrel from earlier was trailing obediently after him, and in the blond’s hand he held to a pack of cigarettes.

“Fancy a cigarette?” Sebastian asked, holding up the packet and rattling it in his hand. “For old times sake.”

Jim rubbed his eyes and peered upwards to where the blond was offering the packet of cigarettes.

“So Annie hasn’t made you give up smoking yet?” 

“In all honesty she thinks I quit six months ago. I’ve been doing it in secret.”

The irishman slowly outstretched his hand and helped himself to a cigarette, before Sebastian followed suit and lit his own cigarette, coming to sit next to Jim on the warm patch of grass.

“Having a child out of wedlock. That’s very un-Catholic of you,” Jim mused aloud, lighting the cigarette and pressing it slowly to his lips.

They weren’t the expensive cigarettes that Jim usually bought for himself, but they would do for now. They tasted like the kind that he used to buy from the corner shop back when he had lived on the estate - it seemed like a lifetime ago. Sometimes he couldn’t help but miss the estate, and how much simpler everything had been. He missed the nights spent sprawled out on the floor smoking and drinking to his hearts content, the noise complaints from angry neighbours, the countless men that had come to and from the flat-

“Why are you still with her?”

Sebastian diverted his attention away from the sea at the question, taking one final drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out. Jim soon followed and did the same - the cigarette had left a funny taste in his mouth. The last remaining embers of the cigarette finally fizzled out, and when it became apparent that Sebastian wasn’t going to answer, Jim took it upon himself to continue:

“You don’t love her, Sebastian.”

The air fell silent, broken only by a gentle snort coming from the blond.

“Of course I don’t fucking love her, James,” he replied bluntly, coming to pet the top of the dog’s head as it came to nestle between them both, its head flopped lazily upon Sebastian’s lap.

Sebastian scratched behind the beast’s ears, a shaky sigh escaping his lips as it dawned on him what he had just said.

“I was unhappy… Annie said a baby would fix things,” he explained sourly. “I thought I’d be happy when she told me she was pregnant, but I’m not.”

Sebastian had begun to tremble, so much so that the large dog’s ears had pricked upright out of caution and it had pulled away from its resting spot. The dog offered a faint whimper before plodding back inside, and both Sebastian and Jim watched it depart until they were the only ones left in the garden. The sky was darkening now, a subtle hint that they had overstayed their welcome, and reluctantly Sebastian dragged himself up onto his feet.

Jim quickly followed, his gaze still latched on to the other man warily. He could still see him trembling even from where he was attempting to cover it up, and just before Sebastian had a chance to open the back-door, Jim wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him into a gentle embrace.

At once Sebastian’s fingers fell from the door handle, and he wept in Jim’s arms.

The embrace lasted for longer than it probably should have; Jim’s arms remained firmly latched on to the taller man whilst he continued to cry into his shirt, and even though he knew he shouldn’t the irishman couldn’t help but reach out to gently stroke through Sebastian’s hair. The blond locks felt just as soft and messy as they had done all those years ago, and Jim used his index finger to twirl a few strands around gently. It took a few minutes for Sebastian to stop crying, and sure enough after he had wiped his eyes dry on his sleeve he pulled away from Jim’s embrace.

He opened is mouth to apologise, though before he even had the chance Jim had already leant in and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. The kiss shut Sebastian up instantly, leaving his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. Jim was almost half-expecting the taller man to punch the living shit out of him, however in turn he adopted a much more gentle approach. A hand came to his beard, and he scratched it irritably.

“I need a shave.”

Though the words had been unexpected, Jim couldn’t help but smirk in relief. The look in his eyes must have been enough to indicate his approval, as soon enough the two them were creeping through the house towards the bathroom, attempting to make as little noise as possible as not to get Annie’s attention. They passed the dog at the bottom of the staircase, whose tail had already started to thump ecstatically at the sight of them both, but Sebastian was quick to place a finger over his lips to hush the dog as they ascended up the staircase.

The whole of the upstairs smelt like lavender, a smell that Jim would have never associated with Sebastian. Though even Sebastian didn’t appear to like it too much, and Jim couldn’t help but pick up on how the taller man scrunched up his nose as they entered the bathroom. The door was quickly locked and bolted, and whilst Sebastian dug around for his shaving equipment Jim took a seat perched on the side of the bathtub.

Whilst he searched for his equipment, Sebastian pulled away momentarily to fumble around in his pocket, eventually passing a small card over to Jim to look at.

“Here’s the ultrasound by the way,” the blond mumbled quietly, before returning to the job at hand.“He’s only a little fella. God knows how small he’s going to be when he’s born.”

Jim took the ultrasound in his hand and observed it thoughtfully. The image wasn’t very clear, but sure enough he could make out the shape of a foetus curled up into a tight ball, surrounded by an abundance of fuzzy grey lines. He didn’t smile, yet he still nodded in acknowledgement and handed it back to Sebastian once more.

“It looks… healthy.”

“Come off it, Jim.”

Sebastian eventually retrieved the clippers; he edged carefully towards the mirror so that he could get a clear view, before eventually flicking on the switch and starting to shave as the quiet buzzing sound echoed throughout the bathroom.

Surely enough the hair soon began to fall, and even Sebastian seemed satisfied with the results.

“I did this to Wellington once too, back at the garden party,” the blond informed Jim with a faint smile at the mere memory of it.

“I remember during our first conversation together he told me that his wife was pregnant again, We both agreed that girls were better than boys.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at the thought.

“I guess only time will tell,” he agreed.

Sebastian turned off the clippers, waiting until the buzzing grounded to a halt before shoving them back into the drawer again. His face looked smoother now, giving the impression that he was a lot younger, and as Sebastian slowly massaged his jaw Jim couldn’t help but admire him.

“I visit his grave every year, you know. Wellington I mean... I’ve made somewhat of a tradition of it,” The irishman yawned casually after a while, causing Sebastian’s head to immediately snap round in surprise.

“And Maria and the girls?” He demanded.

“This isn’t an interrogation, they’re fine. They moved back to London, I still visit them sometimes on the weekends for cake. Maisie’s in the school orchestra, she plays the cello.”

“But-“

“-I’m not completely heartless, you know.”

Sebastian managed a weak smile, and hastily leant forward to give Jim a quick kiss as a way of apologising. Naturally, Jim accepted the kiss, even using the opportunity as a way to steal his own quick kiss back. Sebastian didn’t seem too bothered. A wide grin spread across his lips and he scooped Jim up in his arms, causing the shorter man to shriek and laugh in return, demanding to be let down.

The blond ignored his commands, continuing to spin Jim carelessly around the bathroom until suddenly he tripped and they both tumbled to the floor, with Jim’s shirt getting caught on the way down, and lifting up to reveal a multitude of fresh wounds.

The laughter quickly fizzled out.

“I thought you got help?” Sebastian whispered in confusion, his eyes trailing across the scars whilst his face crumpled.

Jim wriggled out of his grip, hastily getting to his feet and adjusting his shirt.

“I didn’t bother,” he mumbled snappily.

“I should have never left you.”

“No,” Jim agreed bluntly. “No, You shouldn’t have.”

Whilst Jim was still adjusting his shirt, Sebastian came to stand behind him, a tentative hand coming to rest upon the smaller man’s shoulder. Ordinarily Jim would have shrugged it off, but right now he couldn’t bring himself too. He emitted a scornful sniff, resting his head back against Sebastian’s chest in a silent command for the blond to comfort him. After realising what Jim was implying, Sebastian didn’t hesitate to engulf the shorter man in his arms, holding him gently to his chest as they swayed side to side.

“Will you let me back into your life?” He mumbled quietly into the crook of Jim’s neck, causing his skin to prickle slightly.

But that didn’t stop Jim from smiling.

“I didn’t think you had it in you to be so scandalous, darling.”

“And you’ll promise to keep this a secret?”

Jim rolled his eyes and uttered an over-exagerrated groan.

“Christ almighty…Yes I promise to keep this a secret,” he huffed, holding his hand over dramatically to his heart as he spoke.

A small smile of relief twitched at the corners of Sebastian’s lips at Jim’s answer, and he quickly pulled away before ushering for Jim to follow him.

“C’mon, your birthday present is in the bedroom. I hid it under the bed just incase anybody came snooping,” he whispered, sneaking to the end of the hallway before tugging on the handle of the bedroom door and leading Jim inside.

The present itself was wrapped in brown parcel paper, with a little red ribbon wrapped around it. After prizing it out from underneath the bed, Sebastian handed it over to Jim with a sheepish grin. The parcel was only small, and the inside felt solid, almost as if it was a heavy object.

“I didn’t think you’d get me anything,” Jim admitted with a frown, weighing the parcel in his hand to try and get a feel of what it might be.

“Well, it’s a big day today. You’re officially thirty.”

“Don’t say it out loud, I like to keep telling myself I’m still twenty one.”

Sebastian chuckled lowly, before gesturing frantically towards the parcel. Jim could tell that he was getting impatient, that mixed in with the fear that Annie would walk in at any second and disturb their little reunion.

“Anyway, just hurry up and open it,” he persisted with a grin, nudging Jim’s shoulder.

Jim shot him a disapproving glare, before carefully prizing off the ribbon and unwrapping the parcel paper. The paper swiftly fell away, and in his hands he was left with a book - or a play to be more exact.

A Midsummer Night's Dream, by William Shakespeare.


	21. Godfather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim receives some exciting news.

“Okay Jim, open your eyes.”

Ever so slowly Jim opened his eyes and blinked. In his hand sat a little yellow envelope, and upon opening it revealed small card tucked inside, the front of of which was painted with daisies.

“It’s a card.”

“Of course it’s a card you daft idiot,” Sebastian huffed from the other side of the room, gesturing an impatient hand for Jim to open it. “Read the inside.”

“Dear Jim,’ the irishman begun cautiously. “Thank you for everything that you’ve done for my family, I can’t wait to meet you. I’m not here yet, but I want to ask you a question: Will you be my godfather? Love from Robin.”

He frowned, slowly lowering the card as a thick lump settled in his throat. He could tell that Annie had written the card instead of Sebastian, because the handwriting was light and in full cursive - and because it was far too poetic to have come from Sebastian.

“Robin?”

“Sebastian chose the name. He tried to convince me it’s the name of a Shakespeare character.” Annie chimed from where she was resting on Sebastian’s lap.

“Puck,” Jim revealed with a prompt smile. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I just finished reading it.”

Annie looked a lot bigger than she had done a few weeks ago, or ‘like a balloon about to pop’ as Sebastian had put it whilst he and Jim had been out in the garden the previous day. Jim was back in Cornwall again, only because he had promised to stay until the baby was born. He could sense by her distrustful glares and snide comments that Annie wasn’t thrilled at Jim’s return, however the irishman paid her no attention.

It was only a few days now until the big occasion; Annie was sat on the sofa in the living room massaging her bump, whilst Sebastian cradled her from behind. Jim was sat on the opposing armchair, his legs rested uncomfortably on the armrest as he mindlessly ripped up the yellow envelope in his hands into tiny pieces.

Sebastian had been the one to invite Jim, only after practically begging Annie to let him stay for a couple of nights. The guest bedroom had been completely transformed into a new nursery, fit with a wooden crib and countless stuffed animals and fluffy blankets, meaning that Jim had been forcibly relocated to the sofa instead. He couldn’t complain, especially not when Sebastian snuck down in the middle go the night to give him the odd blowjob or two.

Annie must have caught on by now, either that or she was far too preoccupied with the baby to even notice. Jim highly doubted that it was the latter; despite her due date fast approaching, ever since he had returned to the house the atmosphere appeared to have changed. Annie had quickly stopped pretending to like Jim, and no longer did she cook for him or even bother to smile at him when he came downstairs for breakfast in the mornings. Sometimes they shared a conversation with each-other about the weather or how the baby was doing, but only to kill time before Sebastian returned home from work at the fishing port.

She had only allowed him back to the cottage because he was struggling.

One suicide attempt, that was all it had taken. It had been on New Year’s Eve; Jim could only remember because of the endless firework displays that had bounced across the surrounding streets, crashing and fizzing as they flew. He had spent the evening at the Vauxhall Tavern, only to return home empty handed with his head swimming with alcohol. His newest bottle of antidepressants had done the trick, and after taking what he considered to be almost the entirety of the bottle, he had phoned for an ambulance before firing off a few final texts to Sebastian. Then he had perched on the window and watched the remainder of the fireworks, smiling drowsily as Big Ben chimed midnight somewhere in the far distance.

Unsurprisingly, Sebastian had been there at the hospital when he awoke, having received Jim’s frantic messages the night prior. This time he was there without the company of Annie. They had argued, cried for a while, and Sebastian had allowed Jim to rest his head upon his lap as he slept. The blond didn’t leave his side for the remainder of the week, adamant that he wanted to prevent Jim from pulling another stunt like that again. The nights had been long and exhausting, mostly due to Jim’s hysterical episodes and frequent visits from the hospitals nurses, though they had managed nevertheless. On the morning of Jim’s discharge both he and Sebastian had offered their sleepless goodbyes to one another, consisting of a prolonged hug and a shared cigarette smoke at the hospital entrance. Sebastian had kissed him on the lips before departing to the train station, leaving Jim to navigate the big city by himself once more.

“Robin. It’s an interesting name for a child,” Jim mused aloud as he and Sebastian strolled across the frosty beach, the wind nipping at their ears and nose as their shoes traipsed through the damp sand.

Sebastian was wrapped in his own woollen jumper, hands gently massaging his flask of coffee as they walked. He offered some to Jim, who in turn was dressed in a green parka and hat to protect himself from the chill. Annie was taking a nap in the upstairs bedroom, with the stern instruction that they were _not_ to wake her, so the pair had taken the opportunity to go for a quiet walk before lunchtime. Sebastian had suggested to take the dog with them, who was currently bounding across the sand in a heated confrontation with a crab, attempting to pounce on the poor sea creature who kept retaliating in return.

“So, how do you feel about being godfather?” The blond asked finally, draining the remainder of the coffee before concealing the flask away in his bag.

They must have walked for miles already, so much so that the little cottage was only a tiny blue spec in the distance. The wind continued to howl around them, accompanied by now the faint flickers of rain which had started to descend upon them.

“It’s awfully religious, I can’t deny that,” Jim admitted truthfully, outstretching his hand and smiling as soon as Sebastian took a hold of it.

“You aren’t going to accept it?”

“I never said that,” the irishman quickly assured him. “It’s just…funny, I suppose.”

They carried on walking, until Jim broke the silence again.

“We could have adopted.”

Sebastian shook his head and smiled.

“No we couldn’t, Jim. You and I both know that.”

The dog plodded victoriously back to them, now carrying the crab proudly in its mouth. By the looks of it the sea creature was still alive and wriggling in the dog’s grip, so reluctantly Sebastian was forced to try and grapple it out of the canine’s jaws, carrying it back over to the water again. He placed the crab gently down onto the ground, watching as it scuttled off towards the shore.

Jim watched attentively, sniffing in dismay.

“There’s no point,” he reminded Sebastian. “The little guy’s got no chance, he’ll probably get eaten by a seagull or something.”

The blond smiled bitterly, brushing his sand-covered hands on the side of his trousers before jogging over to rejoin with Jim. The wind had jostled his hair, causing it to fall clumsily out of place, along with the tip of his nose which was now bright red from the cold.

“Don’t be stupid. Everybody’s got a chance.”

Jim had to commend Sebastian on how cheery he had been throughout the pregnancy, even if it was all just for show. Every evening the irishman watched as the blond laughed and told jokes around the dinner table, pressing over-the-top kisses to Annie’s lips and cheeks before drinking to his heart’s content. Jim knew that he didn’t mean any of it; when Sebastian came downstairs to visit him during the middle of the night he was usually teary and full of built-up anger. Sometimes he would punch the wall or cry into Jim’s chest, other times they would cuddle up together on the sofa, playing with each-other’s hair and whispering mindless nonsense until the early hours of the morning when dawn broke.

“Did you really mean what you said about adopting, James?” Sebastian asked finally on their journey back to the cottage, hands still intertwined as he brushed his thumb against the shorter man’s palm.

Jim shrugged dismissively.

“It’s like you said, everyone has a chance.”

Robin Moran-Thomas was born on the second of March, a week after Jim’s arrival at the cottage.

Sebastian had been right; he was only a small being, weighing in at just over six pounds with a tiny wrinkled face and hands. Jim had been sat waiting impatiently at the cottage on the day of Annie’s discharge from hospital, and out of the window he was able to catch a glimpse of Sebastian getting out of the car, the baby carrier held carefully in his hands. Annie accompanied him, now looking a lot smaller with her arm proudly interlocked with Sebastian’s.

As soon as the front-door opened, an unusual burst of warmth flooded into the cottage. Jim couldn’t recall seeing the mood being so vibrant since Annie had first announced that she was pregnant.

“You took your time,” Jim commented, climbing down from his perch on the sofa to examine the small bundle in Sebastian’s arms.

Baby Robin was fast-asleep in his father’s arms, wrapped in a cotton blanket and a little cap to prevent his head from getting cold. He didn’t resemble either of his parents, more so a wrinkly sack of potatoes, but Jim was well-aware that if he said that aloud then both Sebastian and Annie would be more than displeased. In-fact he didn’t think that he had ever seen Sebastian be so gentle with another human before, apart from maybe himself. The blond was rocking the bundle ever so carefully, his thumb coming to gently brush across his new son’s hand. He was smiling. It was a smile that for once looked genuine.

Jim wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him up whole.

Both Annie and Sebastian seemed to ignore Jim’s snide belittlement, and after handing the baby over to Annie Sebastian gave Jim’s shoulder an encouraging nudge.

“Hey Robin, say hello to your new Uncle Jim.”

“Uncle Jim?” Jim retorted in horror, turning to the blond as if to see if he was joking or not.

But the smile remained firmly etched onto Sebastian’s lips.

“You’re his uncle, James,” he confirmed. “Not by blood but… Well, I wanted you to be his uncle.”

He leant forward, giving Jim a proud, if not patronising, pat on the back before disappearing off towards the kitchen to find them all some celebratory drinks.

Whilst Sebastian was gone, baby Robin had started to stir from his nap. Jim noticed at first, then Annie who gave a delighted squeak in response. The baby slowly opened his eyes, blinking, before proceeding to emit a tiny yawn that made Annie giggle. Jim didn’t laugh, only because he didn’t know what was so funny about it.

“Here, you haven’t had a chance to hold him yet,” Annie offered brightly, gesturing towards the little bundle in her arms before outstretching it carefully to Jim, who looked mortified at the prospect.

He was quick to shake his head.

“No, no I really couldn’t,” he pleaded desperately, his brow creased in a confused grimace. “You’re his mother after all-“

Before Jim even had a chance to finish, Annie had already dumped baby Robin into Jim’s arms, before scurrying off into the kitchen to go and ‘help Sebastian with the drinks’. The irishman cursed at her under his breath as she left, and he would have made a rude gesture too if his hands hadn’t been occupied holding the baby.

He looked down at it, with its stupid squashed face and its wide eyes. Robin wasn’t looking at him, he was still practically half-asleep, but that didn’t make Jim’s resentment towards him any less. The irishman could still hear Sebastian and Annie chattering away in the kitchen deciding on what Champagne to use; it seemed pointless to celebrate, but with the pair of them gone that meant that Jim had a chance to spend some time alone with the baby.

In the corner of his eye he could still see the flowery card propped up against the mantelpiece, the sight of which was enough to make him scowl. _Godfather_. It made his blood boil.

Robin had started to gurgle, so reluctantly Jim prized his attention away from the card on the mantelpiece and towards the baby in his arms instead. Robin was staring directly at him now; his skin was pale alike Annie’s, but Jim didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d grow up to have Sebastian’ eyes. He’d be exactly like his father someday - a tall young lad with ridiculously blond hair and a charming smile that was enough to woo all of the girls. And it hurt. It hurt to know that one day there would be another carbon copy of Sebastian Moran roaming the streets, only this time Jim could only hope that he didn’t make the same stupid mistakes as his father had.

Robin’s gurgling was beginning to get on Jim’s nerves, and even when he attempted to rock the blanketed bundle the noise still wouldn’t stop. Jim bit his tongue sourly, his grip subconsciously tightening on the fabric of the blanket as he glared down at the baby in his arms. A silent glare that indicated _‘if you don’t shut up then I’ll smash your head against the wall.’_ He was only half-joking.

Though before he had time to act, Sebastian had already returned with two large glasses of Champagne, one for himself and one for Jim. Annie was quick to prize baby Robin away from Jim’s arms, the irishman could already sense her growing suspicion, and after saying goodnight to everybody she traipsed upstairs to settle Robin into his new crib for the night. Jim was quick to snatch the Champagne glass from Sebastian’s grip, practically downing the orange liquid in one go. Sebastian noticed however he didn’t seem to care. His lips had already started to twitch into a feverish smile.

“So, what do you reckon?” He asked once he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“Congratulations, darling,” Jim replied sarcastically, raising his empty glass triumphantly into the air. “I think he’s really fucking special.”

That night they returned to their usual routine; the alcohol had left everybody in high spirits, so after making sure that Annie was asleep, Sebastian had snuck downstairs to the living room to join his counterpart on the sofa. He had been hidden under the duvet when the baby monitor had gone off, whilst Jim’s gentle grunts of pleasure had been interrupted by Robin’s cries from the upstairs nursery. The irishman had told Sebastian not to bring the baby monitor downstairs with him, claiming that it would only ’spoil their fun’, however Moran had insisted.

Sebastian wriggled clumsily out from underneath the blanket, getting hastily to his feet as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Jim sat up in discontent, eyes narrowing as he watched Sebastian attempt to get dressed.

“Are you seriously going to leave?” He demanded furiously, until Sebastian beckoned for him to keep his voice down. “We weren’t finished!”

“Shh,” the blond hissed, pointing towards the ceiling where Annie had started to stir in the room above.

He leant forward to give Jim an apologetic kiss on the lips, however Jim was still displeased. He sulkily swatted the blond away with his hand, before sinking back under the covers again.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Sebastian explained. “I promise.”

He hurried off upstairs to go and tend to Robin, leaving Jim alone on the sofa, his boxers still discarded on the floor. He dragged himself up from the sofa in an attempt to dress himself once more, listening as the cries from the baby monitor faded, and were replaced instead by Sebastian’s soothing tone as he attempted to ease the baby back to sleep. Jim listened for a few minutes, until it soon dawned on him that Sebastian wasn’t going to be returning. He could hear Annie’s voice on the monitor now, coaxing Sebastian back to bed with her. Sebastian must have complied, as soon enough their conversation had quickly fizzled out.

Jim didn’t bother to listen to the rest; he switched off the baby monitor before tugging on the last of his garments, and crawling back under the duvet cover again. The sofa was hard as a rock and made for an uncomfortable night’s sleep, but he couldn’t complain. The guest bedroom wasn’t his anymore, it was Robin’s, and soon enough this whole house would be Robin’s. He was simply a stranger, living amongst a family that was no longer his own.

The irishman rolled over, dragging the duvet blanket up over his head in an attempt to keep himself warm for the long night ahead. He tried not to dwell on matters too much, especially since he was tired, and more than certainly not thinking straight. He closed his eyes, and just as he was about to fall asleep, Robin had started to cry from upstairs again.


	22. Do you Copy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the lead-up to Robin's christening ceremony, but certain priorities lie elsewhere.

“What do you mean you can’t come to the christening ceremony?”

Sebastian was in the kitchen when he received the phone call that morning, crouched awkwardly beside the microwave as he attempted to heat up a bowl of Robin’s breakfast.

It was the first day of trialling out Robin’s new diet, after Annie suggested they move from bottle milk to baby food instead. Sebastian still wasn’t entirely convinced by it all - the new food that they had bought from the supermarket resembled that of orange sludge - and he didn’t understand why any baby would be willing to eat the stuff. Then again he wasn’t a baby himself, so perhaps they had differing food standards.

Everything about raising a new baby had proven to be a culture shock; there were so many rules, so many ‘dos’ and ‘don’ts’ that Sebastian still struggled to wrap his head around. Each night was just as sleepless as any other, not helped by the constant crying and the occasional vomiting from the nursery. Sometimes Sebastian feared that he was doing it all wrong, that he was only making things worse, but Annie’s constant reassuring was managing to keep his fears temporarily at bay.

The christening ceremony had also been her idea, a chance to raise everybody’s spirits and throw a proper celebration for their new son. Annie, unlike Sebastian, was deeply religious; she wore the same old silver cross around her neck each day with pride, and every Christmas and Easter was spent at the church where the both of them could say their prayers. It was also the same church that they had booked for the christening - a pretty little stone building at the top of the hill, directly overlooking the sea. Sebastian himself wasn’t religious in the slightest, and whilst he secretly believed that all of it was bogus, he had to agree that he was looking forward to the christening ceremony.

Everything had been coming along perfectly; Annie had decided on a white colour scheme for the big day, meaning that Sebastian was restricted to wearing a horrible cream suit and black tie, one that he had chosen whilst they were out shopping the previous week. The collar itched in places and the sleeves were slightly too short, but the cashier had strictly told him ‘no refunds’.Even Robin had acquired his own outfit; it wasn’t a suit, instead it was a long, white gown, complete with stupid frills and an excessive amount of lace. Sebastian reckoned that it resembled more of a dress than a ‘gown’ but supposedly it was just tradition.

Not that he was renowned for being traditional.

The microwave pinged, and Sebastian clumsily shoved his phone back into his pocket before opening the door and retrieving the orange goop from inside.

He collected a plastic spoon from the drawer, before carrying the bowl of food over to Robin who was waiting impatiently in his high-chair. Sebastian could tell that the infant was hungry because he had started to drum his chubby hands against the surface of the table, giving the occasional shriek or gurgle as if in English the noises would translate to ‘ _feed me!’_

As he grew older, Robin Moran-Thomas was certainly becoming a lot more strong-willed. As each day passed he was beginning to resemble Sebastian more and more, first from his bright blue eyes, then to the tuft of blond hair that had spurted from the top of his head. Sebastian reckoned he’d grow up to be a troublemaker once he was older, and the inevitable toddler tantrums were something that he was already dreading terribly.

Sebastian scooped up some of the baby food with the spoon, a strained smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Okay, Robbie… Open wide, here comes the airplane!”

The blond made a playful ‘ _vroommm_!’ sound with his mouth, lifting the spoon up to Robin’s lips as he took a large bite.

Robin spat it out almost immediately after, emitting a squeal of disgust as he swung his arm outwards in protest, shoving the bowl of food off the edge of the high-chair. The bowl clattered to the floor as the contents spilled out everywhere, and Sebastian gave a frustrated groan just as Annie traipsed into the kitchen.

She was still-half asleep, bundled up tightly in her usual fluffy dressing gown.

“Still no luck?” She asked in amusement, leaning forward to peck a small kiss to Sebastian’s lips before crouching down to try and clear up the remainder of the mess.

“None whatsoever,” Sebastian sighed in agreement, slumping down at the kitchen table as he poured himself a bowl of cereal.

“This is the third time in a row he’s refused to eat his breakfast. I’m convinced he hates me.”

“Did you try making the airplane noises?”

“Obviously I made the airplane noises!”

The blond devoured a large spoonful of cereal whilst Annie attempted to feed Robin his breakfast, and by the sound of it she was having a far more successful job. Sebastian took another few bites of cereal until he was interrupted by a text alert from his phone, and Annie looked over in curiosity.

“Who’s that?”

Sebastian sighed, dumping his spoon into the now-empty bowl of cereal before picking up his phone so that he could fire off a speedy reply.

“James,” he explained lowly, getting up once he had finished so that he could dump his dirty cutlery into the sink. “Bad news I’m afraid. He called me just now, he can’t make it to the christening.”

Annie immediately lowered the spoon of baby food in her hand, her eyebrow arching skeptically.

“Can’t make it? But he’s the godfather he _has_ to come,” she protested.

Sebastian shrugged apologetically.

“I know I know,” he agreed with a sigh, turning on the tap and allowing the water to run for a few minutes. “He said he’s caught up with work, he asked me to send you his love.”

Annie scoffed.

“Send me his love? What love?”

The rest of the day passed just like any other. After kissing goodbye to both Annie and Robin he grabbed his coat before heading down to the port to start his day’s work. The countless fisherman’s boats had already docked by the time he arrived on his motorbike, all of which were already piled high with plentiful amounts of fish and crabs. Sometimes Sebastian could see them out of the bedroom window if he squinted hard enough - the little brown specs that travelled across the sea at dawn - no matter how terrible the weather was. He himself had been offered the position of working on the fishing boats, but had been forced to politely decline with the excuse that he suffered from seasickness.

The seasick son of a naval admiral. Surely there had to be a cruel joke in there somewhere.

As a light rainfall descended upon the sleepy town of St Ives, Sebastian busied himself with his workload for the day; untangling netting, cleaning the equipment, delivering new boxfuls of fish to the neighbouring restaurant on the back of his motorbike. By the time he arrived his clothing and hair were already sopping wet, and the restaurant owner had greeted him with a pleasant smile and thanked him for the delivery.

On his lunch break Sebastian had driven up to a more secluded area of the harbour, parking his motorbike by the side of the road as he took a seat under one of the shelters and helped himself to the cigarette. The rain had gradually worsened throughout the day, and the heavy black clouds above emitted the sinister warning that there was more rain to come. The blond didn’t mind the rain so much, it was more the thunder and lightning that he couldn’t stand.

His newfound fear of thunderstorms had only arisen since his departure from the army, and ever since then his fear had only worsened by the day. Every strike of lightning reminded him of a gunshot, every rumble of thunder reminded him of the heavy tanks they had used to bulldoze through the war zones. The memories of war were memories that Sebastian would rather forget, for both his sake and for the sake of his new family.

He didn’t want Robin to grow up to discover that his father suffered from night terrors, that sometimes his hands trembled and shook so badly that he couldn’t even pick up his phone to dial for help. Would his son think of him as a coward? Those were the worries he tried desperately not to think about.

And sometimes in his nightmares, Sebastian saw Jim too.

Smiling at him.

Mocking him.

Sebastian had just finished with his cigarette when his phone started to vibrate in his pocket, and with a disgruntled huff he dug his hand into his coat to retrieve it. An unknown caller. Strange. The blond pressed ‘accept’, holding the phone closely to his ear as a familiar Irish drawl echoed from the other side of the line.

“Earth to Moran, do you copy?”

“Jim?”

Jim sounded panicked. Afraid.

“Obviously it’s Jim. I hope I haven’t disappointed you.”

“Are you okay?”

A faint series of crackles sounded from Jim’s end of the phone, but Sebastian couldn’t quite decipher what they were. By the sound of it the signal was bad, and with the thunderstorm nearing Sebastian knew that they only had a precious amount of time left.

“Everything’s marvellous darling,” Jim chimed unconvincingly. “I just wanted to hear your voice. It’s been a long time.”

Another faint crackle sounded.

“Are you safe, Jim?”

“Of course I’m safe. Like I said, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

There came a shaky sigh from the other end of the line.

“And Moran?”

“Hm?”

“I missed y-“

But the connection had cut out before Sebastian had a chance to hear the rest of the sentence.

The christening ceremony took place the following weekend, and whilst it wasn’t terrible Sebastian still would have much preferred to have Jim by his side throughout it. If the irishman had been there then he no doubt he would have made snide comments about all of the other guests, and alike Sebastian he too probably would have made fun of Robin’s ridiculous christening gown.

After the ceremony, the blond had even texted Jim a photo of Robin wearing the christening gown with the hope that he would find it funny and laugh.

_[ Here’s the stupid dress Robin has to wear.I found you might find it funny. SM ]_

But Jim didn’t reply, nor did he even open the message.

_[ I miss you too. SM ]_

Sebastian tucked his phone back into his suit jacket once he had lost all hope of Jim replying, allowing his thoughts to drift as he basked in the afternoon sun. The odd phone-call from the previous week was still playing on his mind, taunting him day in and day out. Sebastian’s biggest fear was that Jim had managed to get himself kidnapped by one of the countless enemies of the network, that he was currently chained up in some dingy prison cell being beaten to a pulp. He liked to hope that the irishman was staying away from any danger, but with the ever-growing network that seemed almost impossible nowadays.

As of late, Sebastian made a habit of watching the news. He never used to watch it, not before moving to Cornwall, but the constant stories about mysterious bomb plots and kidnapped children were enough to comfort him. Though they were odd, they served as the reminder that Jim was still out there somewhere, he was still alive partaking in his usual wicked ways. Annie claimed that if he kept watching so much news then it would eventually fry his brain and make his eyes go square, but he persisted that he ‘needed to know what was going on in the world’.

Annie still didn’t understand why Sebastian smiled every time the news anchor announced that another dead body had been found.

Sebastian lit himself up a cigarette as the remainder of the guests flowed out of the church hall, the majority of whom were in particularly high spirits. Only a small portion of the guests were from his side of the family. The majority were Annie’s, from countless brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts, and even her parents had flown down from their holiday home in Scotland for the big occasion. He felt somewhat embarrassed for not having invited as many guests himself, and in a last ditch effort he had even gone as far as to get back in touch with his parents, who in return had declined his invitation to the ceremony.

He was forced to hide his cigarette as the vast array of guests made their way over, thanking him for the wonderful ceremony and praising how wonderful little Robin behaved in the church. Sebastian couldn’t tell if they were being sarcastic or not, when the vicar attempted to sprinkle the water onto Robin’s head he had cried and fidgeted relentlessly, but nevertheless the blond accepted their compliments through a gritted smile. 

Once the last of the guests had left, Sebastian took the opportunity to finish off his cigarette, a small sigh of relief escaping the back of his throat.

When Annie emerged from the church hall with Robin safely in her arms, Sebastian hastily disposed of the cigarette in the nearby flowerbed before going to greet the pair.

“If it isn’t my little soldier!” He exclaimed delightedly, scooping Robin up into the air before pressing a proud kiss to the top of his head.

Annie smiled at the sight, before suddenly her smile faded and she pinched her nose.

“Have you been smoking?” She coughed accusingly, shooting her partner a suspicious glare.

But Sebastian merely shrugged.

“Must’ve been your Uncle Tom. I saw him smoking a few cigarettes round the back of the church just before the ceremony,” he lied.

Robin yawned softly from where he was cuddled against Sebastian’s chest, and with a tired smile the blond gently massaged his back. The yawn was probably an indicator that they should go, it was getting late.

“C’mon, Robbie, let’s get you back to your bed yeah?” He suggested eventually, handing the boy back to Annie once again before retrieving his car keys from his pocket.

The car was new, but only in the sense that they had bought it just a few months prior to accommodate their new family. Sebastian had gotten it from a dodgy dealer up in Truro; it was a rusty old thing, with faded yellow paint and an engine that whirred and hissed every few minutes. Sebastian much preferred his bike, but it had lost its practicality some time ago. The only times he was able to ride it were to-and-from-work, and sometimes when Annie was asleep he’d drive it down to the beach, and admire the stars in the night sky.

The journey home was completed in silence, with both Annie and Robin having fallen asleep in their car seats. Sebastian looked over to them occasionally as he drove, though he couldn’t bring himself to smile. Whilst anybody else would have killed to have his lifestyle, it was all wrong. Jim had been right all those months ago - he wasn’t in love.

After parking the car, Sebastian climbed out and carefully unbuckled Robin from his car seat. Annie had begun to stir now, and the blond pressed a soft kiss to the top of her forehead before carrying his sleeping son upstairs to where his crib awaited him. He flicked on the light switch, watching as a soft light flooded through the nursery. The walls were painted a pale blue, with little glow-in-the-dark stars and planets stuck to the ceiling above. After changing Robin out of the horrible christening gown and into his usual onesie, Sebastian placed him carefully into his crib.

“There. Much better.”

He went to fetch him a cuddly toy - Robin’s favourite being the cuddly toy tiger that sat perched on top of the toy box.

The toy tiger had arrived in the post a month prior without warning. There had been no name on the parcel, but Sebastian instinctively knew that it was from Jim.

He gently placed the toy tiger in the crib beside Robin, pressing a final kiss to his forehead before pulling away and turning off the light. The nursery descended immediately into the darkness, all apart from the little stars and planets attached to the ceiling which emitted their usual green glow. Once he was satisfied, Sebastian slowly closed the door behind him, his hand lingering thoughtfully on the handle for a few seconds.

When he had finished brushing his teeth, Annie was already waiting to greet him in the bedroom. She was wrapped up cosily in her own pyjamas, propped up in bed reading some book about gardening. It was the same book Sebastian had gifted her for her birthday back last September.

“Is he asleep?”

Annie looked up from her book, a small smile tugging at her lips when Sebastian came to join her in bed.

“Just about,” he yawned in agreement, draping the duvet cover over his torso as he attempted to make himself comfortable.

Annie placed down her book on the bedside table, cautiously rolling over to join Sebastian. She rested her hand upon the blond’s shoulder, and Sebastian instantly realised what she wanted.

“Since Robin’s asleep,” she whispered excitedly. “Why don’t we…”

“Not now, love. It’s been a long day, I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“I just thought we could-“

“-No, Annie. Maybe another time.”

Annie’s hand quickly pulled away, and after switching the table lamp off they were both plunged into darkness. Annie turned to face one way, whist Sebastian turned the other. They didn’t hug, or even attempt to apologise to one another.

“Do you think the ceremony went okay?” She asked finally, attempting to glance back towards Sebastian, though the darkness was making it hard to see properly, and she couldn’t tell whether Sebastian was awake or not.

There came no response.

“Goodnight, Seb.”

Annie didn’t say anything after that, she merely rolled over and closed her eyes in an attempt to sleep. Sebastian had heard her both times, though for some reason he couldn’t find the will to reply. If he spoke then Annie would realise that something was wrong, and he didn’t think that he wanted to endure that conversation right now.

He hadn’t fallen out of love with her, he had never loved her in the first place.

The next morning, Sebastian’s gleeful shouts echoed around the kitchen.

It had taken four gruelling attempts, but finally he had succeeded in feeding Robin his breakfast without any fuss or mess. On the menu that morning had been mushed up banana, and to Sebastian’s complete surprise, Robin had eaten every last mouthful. He couldn’t take all of the credit for the little victory, after all the toy tiger had done most of the work. It turned out that the presence of the cuddly toy on the kitchen table was enough to convince Robin to eat his breakfast, a discovery that Sebastian would easily describe as being a miracle. Annie was still asleep upstairs, however when she awoke Sebastian was sure to tell her the good news. No doubt she’d laugh, and maybe he’d get a kiss if he was lucky.

“Hey, Robin. Shall we put some music on to celebrate?”

Sebastian had been in the middle of dancing when he asked the question, the toy tiger held in his hand as he waltzed around the kitchen table. Robin gurgled, which Sebastian assumed to be a ‘yes’, and with an amused grin he leant forward and turned on the radio. At once, the voice of the news anchor filled the kitchen.

_“Breaking news, we can now confirm that the bodies of two men have been found dead at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, London.”_

Sebastian immediately stopped dancing, letting go of the toy tiger as it toppled to the floor. Robin cried in protest at the sight of his precious toy discarded on the floor, slamming his fists down grumpily upon the highchair. But Sebastian ignored him. His ears were tuned adamantly to the radio, heart pounding furiously as he waited for any inkling of news as to who the bodies belonged to. Even though he already had a horrible feeling that he knew what was to come.

It couldn’t be.

Not him.

_“The body of the man said to have fallen from the rooftop has now been identified as the detective, Sherlock Holmes. It is also believed that his rival, James Moriarty, was also found dead at the scene. The deaths have since been ruled as suicide.”_

“Oh, Jim.”


	23. Lighthouse Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a visit to London, Sebastian becomes convinced that he's imagining things.

The first anonymous letter arrived to Sebastian six months after Jim’s suicide.

The letter itself had been delivered to Sebastian during one of his frequent visits to London. The hotel waiter had arrived one evening to deliver his usual order of room service, and after placing the silver dishes of food down onto the bed he had brandished a letter from inside his pocket, handing it to Sebastian who in turn raised an eyebrow of confusion.

“What is it?” The blond asked uncertainly, getting up from his perch on the bed to retrieve the letter.

The envelope was unmarked, but judging by the smell it had been dowsed in some sort of expensive cologne. The paper was brown, and a wax seal had been printed boldly upon the front.

“A letter for you, sir. It arrived earlier this afternoon.”

“Was there a name?”

“The sender requested to remain anonymous, sir, my apologies.”

The waiter didn’t linger for long, and after presenting Sebastian with his food for that evening he quickly said his goodbyes and left. As soon as the door clicked shut, Moran rolled over onto the bed and tore open the envelope, only to be greeted with a folded piece of paper tucked inside.

The letter was hand-written, not that Sebastian recognised the handwriting in question. It was written in neat cursive, likely with an ink pen judging by the smudges that stained the parchment. There wasn’t much writing on the page, but after allowing his gaze to drift over it for a few moments he realised with a pang of horror what the letter was referring to.

_‘And therefore as a stranger give it welcome._

_There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,_

_Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come;_

_Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,_

_How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself,_

_As I perchance hereafter shall think meet_

_To put an antic disposition on.’_

The passage had been taken from one of the works of Shakespeare. Hamlet to be exact.

Sebastian only recognised it from the agonising amount of Shakespeare that he had been made to read whilst still at school, and he could still remember his drama teacher reciting the very same passage during one of their lessons together. As a teenager Sebastian had never understood the passage, nor had the rest of his class until one lesson his drama teacher had sat them all down and explained it to them.

The passage was from the first act of the play, shortly after Hamlet encounters the ghost of his father, who had been murdered by Hamlet’s uncle. Sebastian, who had been playing the role of the ghost at the time, listened in awe whilst his drama teacher described Hamlet’s plan - how in order to seek revenge for his father’s murder, he would pretend to be mad. Mad as a hatter.

As a schoolboy Sebastian had been thrilled by the idea of pretending to be mad, and from there on his love of Shakespeare had blossomed, yet now he was merely left in a state of confusion and pain at the very thought of it. Either the letter was a warning for something, or just some cruel practical joke carried out by a few kids. Whatever it was, it left the blond feeling uneasy, and the room service he had ordered no longer looked appetising.

Even though Jim’s suicide had been almost half a year ago, the grief was still virtually impossible to shake away. Even in death Jim still managed to keep ahold of Sebastian, his ghostly presence swarmed around him all day and all night, preventing the blond from ever escaping the torment he had created. There had never been a funeral, or even a grave where Sebastian could go to mourn. Instead he was constantly stuck in what he could only describe as an endless rut of misery.

He had tried escaping, but only once. Whilst Annie was visiting her parent’s house with Robin one morning, Sebastian had attempted to end it once and for all, to join Jim like he had promised all those years ago. It had been not long after Jim’s death, when the papers and news headlines were still crawling with photos and information about the suicides. Sebastian had made a makeshift noose out of the shower curtain, and attempted to hang himself with it - though the fabric wasn’t tight enough and it resulted in him crashing down onto the floor and damaging his wrist. Annie had returned home that evening to find the blond sobbing on the bedroom floor, and the day afterwards had booked Sebastian into bereavement counselling sessions for the following week.

But Jim had never liked Shakespeare, nor had he ever read Hamlet. So unless he had educated himself on a whole load of Shakespeare plays right before his death then there was no chance that he could have written the letter.

_And there was also the fact that you had to be alive to send letters to people._

Sebastian’s visits to London were always bittersweet, and nearly-always involved Jim in some shape or form. This time he had been called away for matters involving the house, and what to do with the remainder of Jim’s possessions that still resided there. The estate agent had offered to sell them, however Sebastian was adamant against the idea and had offered to come down instead to sort out the problem himself.

He hadn’t paid a proper visit to the house since the incident, and the thought of even stepping inside was enough to make Sebastian’s stomach twist with guilt.

After having disposed of the letter the previous night, the following morning Sebastian made his way to Kensington to visit the house. The exterior still looked exactly the same as he remembered it, however now there was a large red ‘FOR SALE’ sign stuck in the flowerbed spoiling the view. The estate agent was already stood outside to greet him, a portly man with a red face and pointed moustache. Sebastian noticed the set of keys in his hands, and offered the man a strained smile as he approached him.

“Sebastian Moran?” The estate agent asked, his accent thick with what Sebastian instantly recognised to be cockney.

The blond nodded and shook his hand out of courtesy.

“Maxwell Thompson. I believe we spoke over the phone.”

They approached the front-steps of the house together, before the estate agent stopped so that he could attempt to try and find the right key.

“D’you live around here then, mate?” He asked flippantly as a way of making small-talk.

“I used to,” Sebastian grunted in response, far more interested in the set of keys currently being juggled around in the man’s stubby hands. “I moved to Cornwall a few years back.”

“Cornwall, eh? I bet the beaches are nice down there. Plenty of sunbathing?”

Sebastian didn’t respond, though thankfully he didn’t need to. The estate agent soon found the key that he had been searching for, handing it over to Sebastian with a peculiar smile. The blond gladly snatched it away, thanking the man for his troubles.

“Make sure to lock up once you’ve finished. I’ve got clients coming to look round at four,” the estate agent explained curtly.

He turned to leave, before Sebastian suddenly stopped him.

“What are the clients like?” He blurted out before he could help himself.

The estate agent didn’t appear too phased, he merely snorted in amusement at the strangeness of the question.

“Young family all the way from Manchester. They’re expecting a baby apparently.”

Sebastian smiled.

“The guest bedroom makes for an excellent nursery,” he informed him calmly, to which the estate agent chuckled at.

“I’ll be sure to include that in the description,” the portly man hummed, observing Sebastian thoughtfully from the front-gate. “The place hasn’t been selling well… Folks say it gives them the creeps.”

“How come?”

A knowing laugh escaped the estate agent’s lips, and Sebastian couldn’t help but feel somewhat out of place.

“Are you scared of ghosts, kid?’

It quickly dawned on Sebastian what the man was referring to. The smile that he had been maintaining immediately dropped from his features, and instead he was left looking almost like a kicked puppy. The estate agent must have made the connection, and soon enough he said his goodbyes and promptly left without another word. Sebastian swore loudly as soon as the man could no longer hear him. Bloody arsehole.

Once he bid good riddance to the estate agent, Sebastian closed the front-gate behind him and approached the front-door. It took a few minutes of self-convincing, any passerby must have thought that he was incredibly strange, until finally he dare to place the key in the lock and open the door.

Unlike the exterior of the house, the interior was far beyond recognition.

The first thing that Sebastian noticed upon entering was how the walls had been completely stripped back, likely by the authorities in order to cover up whatever crude marks James had left on the paintwork. A few remains still laid scattered around on the floor, the majority being newspaper clippings that Sebastian recognised from when Jim was still alive.

Unable to contain his fond smile, the blond carefully picked them up and decided to read through them. For the most-part they revolved around Sherlock Holmes, which was enough to wipe the smile clean from Sebastian’s lips. But on the odd occasion he found old newspaper headlines from Jim’s numerous stunts, his favourite being the article headlined ‘ _JEWEL THIEF ON TRIAL AT OLD BAILEY’_. The image below depicted a smug-looking James being escorted into a police car, and Sebastian carefully pocketed the image just for safekeeping. Perhaps he could store it in his wallet, something sentimental like that.

He continued on through the house, finding various different possessions along the way that he made a mental note to keep; the most prominent being Jim’s vast display of Westwood suits, as well as his collection of vinyls that laid discarded in the living room. It seemed that whoever had last been in the house had already tried to sort through them clumsily, and Sebastian would have been surprised if none of them were scratched or damaged. If Jim could see the state of his collection then no doubt he’d be furious - his vinyls were always his pride and joy, and every time Sebastian came to visit he’d always have one playing in the background.

Carefully, the blond crouched down and begun to flick through the old records, a particular one at the back catching his attention. It wasn’t one that he recognised, and it certainly was different from Jim’s usual ensemble of classical music and disco hits. It must have been a new purchase, probably made a while before the irishman’s death judging by the amount of dust caked upon the casing.

He prized the record out from the stack in order to get a closer look at it. And after gently brushing the dust from the cover, he read the name out loud.

_“Lighthouse Keeper.”_

With a bewildered smile, Sebastian slid the black vinyl out of its casing and got to his feet.

“What d’you say, Jim? One more dance for old time’s sake?”

It was a miracle that the old record player in the corner still worked. Sebastian spent a few minutes clumsily trying to set it up, until finally he placed the record down onto the turntable and watched as it began to spin. At first no sound came out, and with a stab of defeat Sebastian realised that it must be broken, until finally a few seconds later crackly music flooded the room, accompanied by the gentle gushes of the ocean.

_I wanna marry a lighthouse keeper and keep him company_

_I wanna marry a lighthouse keeper and live by the side of the sea_

_I'll polish his lamps by the light of day_

_So the ships at night can find their way_

_I wanna marry a lighthouse keeper_

_Won't that be okay?_

It was an odd song, odd in the sense that it wasn’t Jim’s taste at all. Sebastian decided to light up a cigarette whilst he listened, taking a seat comfortably on one of the armchairs as the music trickled out of the little record player. It reminded him of when Jim had first moved in, adamant that he wanted to bring his record player with him. At the time Sebastian had been skeptical, but had agreed nevertheless, and soon enough most evenings were filled with the unmistakeable sound of Duran Duran bouncing through the house. Jim never turned down his music, even when the neighbours started to complain. He claimed that ‘turning down music is an offence to the universe’, and though Sebastian wasn’t quite sure how true that statement actually was, he had never attempted to argue over it. Seeing Jim dancing to music was one of the only times he ever saw Jim truly happy - and a part of him regretted how much he had simply taken it for granted.

_I dream of living in a lighthouse, baby, every single day_

_I dream of living in a lighthouse, the white one by the bay_

_So if you want to make my dreams come true_

_You'll be a lighthouse keeper, do_

_We could live in a lighthouse, a white one by the bay._

However just as the song reached it’s final chorus, the music suddenly cut out. Sebastian, who had been preoccupied with his cigarette at the time, looked up at once to see what the problem was. There must have been a scratch or something - not that it was surprising considering how roughly the record had been handled in the past. But even if it wasn’t surprising it was still irritating, and with a small huff the blond discarded his cigarette before approaching the turntable to carefully remove the vinyl.

Though just as he went to remove it, the vinyl suddenly began to spin again of its own accord.

Assuming that the song had simply started to play again, Sebastian took an instinctive step back. As expected, the music began to start, however this time it was jumpy, and kept skipping to different parts of the song. And a few seconds in, Sebastian could have sworn that he’d heard a voice, hidden beneath the rest of the music. The voice would fade then return, and did so continuously until all of a sudden the music cut out once more, and Sebastian was left with only the voice. _His_ voice.

_“Red alert! Red alert! Big bad bouncy red alert!”_

Jim Moriarty’s voice was there, on the vinyl.

_“Klingons attacking lower decks! Also, cowboys in black hats, and Darth Vader!”_

Talking complete gibberish.

_“Miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me?”_

It was so unmistakably him - from the shrill Irish accent to the general demeanour that it conveyed. Even though it was only an audio recording, Sebastian knew full-well that Jim was smiling when he made it, no doubt a massive, smug grin which spread across the entirety of his face. Suddenly the note from earlier that day seemed like child’s play compared to this.

Sebastian was half-tempted to rip away the record and smash it into a million pieces, but he couldn’t bring himself to move or even make a sound. Every muscle in his body had gone rigid, and even his attempts to make noise only resulted in a futile croak from the back of his throat. All he could pray was that his brain was imagining it, that all of the grief he had accumulated over the months was playing tricks on him again. It had happened before - hearing voices, seeing Jim stood there smiling at him - but during those times Sebastian had been able to tell reality apart from fiction. And this time he couldn’t help but struggle between the two.

Sebastian couldn’t recall what had happened after that - it only dawned on him how many hours must have passed when he heard the estate agent from the doorway, talking to who Sebastian could only be the clients he had mentioned earlier. But the clients weren’t scheduled until four that evening.

Fuck.

The blond had been slumped against the floor when he heard the vibrant chatter from the front-door. It didn’t register with him that the record had stopped until he looked up to find the vinyl sat stationary on top of the turntable. Immediately a low growl sounded from Sebastian’s lips, and just as he made a lunge towards the turntable, the clients had already entered the room.

“And here you’ll find the-“

The estate agent’s voice was cut off immediately by the sight of Sebastian, now sprawled on the floor clutchingfuriously to the flimsy vinyl in his hands. Accompanying the agent this time were a young couple, the woman sporting a rather large baby bump. They both looked just as afraid as their counterpart, shooting each-other worried glances to which Sebastian only ignored.

“Mister Moran, I didn’t realise you’d still be here,” the estate agent apologised unconvincingly, his facial expression twisting as if he was attempting to disguise his anger.

He cautiously approached to help the man on the floor, but Sebastian quickly batted him away.

“Mister-“

“You can’t buy this house,” the blond spoke suddenly, his voice now hoarse and breathless. “It’s not for sale. You can’t have it.”

The following morning, Sebastian decided that it was time to leave. And after checking out of the hotel before breakfast had even been served, he found himself on the long drive home to Cornwall.

Instead of taking Jim’s belongings home with him, he had rented out a few storage units in Westminster to house the irishman’s things temporarily. All of Jim’s Westwood’s and fancy accessories had been placed into storage containers, even the tiny sentimental items such as the old teacups and hair products Jim used to use. Sebastian didn’t dwell on whether or not the choice was obsessive, right now old teacups were the least of his priorities.

The previous night reminded Sebastian of the night that Jim died; the same lack of sleep, the constant tossing and turning, the same nightmares and visions that flooded his conscience. By the time morning arose Sebastian’s cheeks were already sore and blotchy with tears, his walk resembling that of a sluggish alcoholic. He crammed the remainder of his belongings into his suitcase, and after dumping his room key at the checkout without any explanation he headed out to the car.

The journey was long and tiresome, not helped by the fact that Sebastian had to stop numerous times for petrol. During his third pit stop at the petrol station the blond’s stomach was starting to make low growling noises, so with some reluctance he stopped by the roadside cafe to order himself a quick bite to eat. He took the opportunity to have a cigarette; the young waitress whom he had conversed with inside brought out his order of a bacon sandwich, and he ate in silence whilst watching the cars pass by.

It wasn’t until later that afternoon when Sebastian finally returned home, only to be greeted by a flustered-looking Annie at the front-door. And after switching of the engine the blond went to greet her, only to be met with a shriek of anger.

“Jesus, Sebastian, why didn’t you text me?! I was worried sick!” She exclaimed, and if she wasn’t busy holding baby Robin in her arms then no doubt she would have slapped Sebastian around the face for being so careless.

Sebastian supposed it was only a short matter of time until they’d have to stop referring to Robin as a ‘baby’. He was no longer that precious newborn that Sebastian had carried home for the first time; he had grown significantly since then, with a full head of light blond hair, and an infectious laugh that could light up any room without fail. He was still an innocent soul, there was no denying that, and sometimes Sebastian couldn’t help but feel as though he was letting the poor kid down. Just by being his father.

But on that occasion Robin wasn’t laughing, he seemed tired and restless. And the same could be said for Annie, who Sebastian still couldn’t figure out whether she wanted to punch him or hug him.

“I saw him,” Sebastian stated bluntly, moving past Annie so that he could go inside and dump off his suitcase.

Annie swiftly followed, along with Robin who appeared to be growing particularly grumpy at all of the manhandling. She carefully placed him down onto the floor so that he could crawl off and explore, before placing a firm clasp around Sebastian’s wrist to prevent him from sneaking off too.

“You stink, love,” Annie sighed in disbelief, completely ignoring the man’s previous statement. “Have you been smoking? Look you’re covered in ash and you’re all shaky-“

“-I saw Jim.”

At once Annie fell silent, her gaze flickering up and down as if to see whether Sebastian was joking or not. But judging by his stony expression it quickly became clear that he wasn’t. She sighed, slowly removing her grip from Sebastian’s arm, before scratching her brow in evident dismay.

“What do you mean you saw him?” The shorter woman hissed in a hushed tone, glancing occasionally towards the living room where Robin was quite happily playing with his toy cars.

Once she was satisfied that Robin was occupied, Annie carefully closed the door so that they could converse in private:

“James is dead, Sebastian.”

Sebastian was well-aware of Annie’s suspicious gaze watching over him, one he could only compare to a teacher telling off a naughty pupil. It was degrading, infuriating, and if he wasn’t careful then no doubt he’d end up smashing a lamp or ornament. But Robin’s laughter from the room next-door managed to ground Sebastian temporarily. He blinked, focusing upon Annie with a slight snarl, before suddenly the words spewed from his mouth:

“If Hamlet can pretend to be mad then why can’t Jim pretend to be dead?”

A laugh of bewilderment sounded, not from Sebastian but from the woman instead.

“Because Hamlet is a fictional character,” Annie snapped, her voice lowering significantly at the last part. “And unfortunately for us James was real.”

“Don’t talk about Jim like that”

“And why are you telling me about Hamlet anyway?” Annie asked incredulously, gently massaging the bridge of her nose.

“You’re beginning to sound just as mad as him, Seb.”

She, Alike Sebastian, seemed tense - only for completely opposite reasons. After not having heard from her partner in a solid day he had returned home, stumbling like a maniac and ranting about dead men and make-believe characters. Surely that was enough of a warning sign that she should call somebody - a doctor maybe? The same bereavement counsellor they had spoken to a few months prior? It wasn’t safe, or at least in Annie’s eyes it wasn’t, not for him to be around Robin.

Sebastian reached in his pocket to brandish the letter from the hotel, however he was met with a sudden pang of dismay at the realisation that he had thrown it away the day prior. He quickly slipped his hand out of his pocket and balled his fist, the low growl that escaped his lips was enough to signify his displeasure.

“Look, love,” Annie begun, tentatively approaching Sebastian and wrapping her arms around his waist, only for the taller man to quickly push her off. “We can talk to the counsellor again, we can get you help-“

“I don’t need a counsellor. I know what I saw.”

“Sebastian you’re being absurd-“

“He’s back,” the blond stated bluntly. “I just don’t know how yet.”

Sebastian made the decision to sleep on the sofa that evening, despite Annie’s worried protests. It was the same sofa that he and Jim had slept on frequently during the irishman's visits to St Ives, where they had shared secretive touches and not-so-subtle acts of pleasure. The sofa was colder than Sebastian recalled it being, uncomfortable too. Perhaps it was because it was only him sleeping on it this time, without the privilege of having Jim curled up beside him whispering some nonsense about the stars and the solar system.

After a few hours or so of battling unsuccessfully with the sofa, he decided to get up and go for a walk instead. A chance to let off some steam. Still in his boxer shorts, he traipsed through the silent house and over to the bookshelf in the hallway. It was where he usually kept all of his plays and novels for sleepless nights such as these; mountains of Shakespeare and Marlowe, the occasional Dickens book tucked in amongst the rest. Sebastian missed his job in the theatre, only because of how much simpler everything had been. It was before he had enlisted himself in the army, before he had started a family, and _before he had lost everybody around him._

But tonight Sebastian was only interested in Shakespeare, and one by one he carefully plucked the books from the shelf, holding them all precariously in his hands. There were more than he expected there to be, some new editions whilst the majority were from his teenage years. The books were heavy in his clutch, and even Sebastian struggled to carry them through into the living room where he proceeded to dump them onto the carpet. A satisfactory ‘thud’ followed, and with a small groan Sebastian eased himself down onto the floor beside them.

Without much thought he placed each and every book clumsily into the pit of the fireplace, before rummaging around in his pocket for a suitable lighter. It was one of those decisions that Sebastian knew he’d regret by morning, not that he was in a clear state of mind to try and comprehend it. It seemed like a rational thing to do, or at least a mandatory thing to do considering the circumstances. He wanted to get away from Jim, away from anything and everything that reminded him of the irishman. Every time he picked up a book he couldn’t help but be reminded of Jim’s voice in his ear, scolding him for reading too much, or for allowing himself to become too invested in the characters.

_‘Why do you enjoy reading those things anyway? They aren’t real.’_

Perhaps Annie was right, perhaps he was just as mad as one of Shakespeare’s characters. The mere thought was laughable enough. With every passing day Jim's death became harder and harder to manage, to the point where Sebastian was convinced that this might be the final straw. If he had to burn his belongings to get rid of his memories of Jim then so be it. Hell, if Jim was watching him right now then no doubt he'd be laughing at the blond's foolishness. 

The eruption of flames illuminated the otherwise-dark room, casting a pale orange glow onto Sebastian’s face as he sat back and watched. One by one the books slowly began to disintegrate - from the smaller books at the top to the playwright’s heavier works stacked at the bottom. The sight of his precious books burning was enough to make his mouth go dry, his throat feeling like it had closed up almost completely. The paper burnt quickly, quickly enough so that after a minute Sebastian was left with merely a pile of ash in the grate. His once-prized works of Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet were gone, reduced to a pile of charred rubble.

If it was closure that he longed for so desperately then he hadn't succeeded. Jim was still there, maybe not in the form of books, but in the depths of Sebastian's mind. Perhaps men like Jim weren't meant to be forgotten, either that or they were impossible to forget. Sebastian sniffed at the thought, managing an exhausted smile. He was definitely mad. And oddly enough that suited him perfectly fine.


	24. Kite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As five years pass, life for Sebastian is finally beginning to settle down.

The five years after James’ suicide proved to be relatively peaceful, peaceful in the sense that Sebastian’s life was slowly beginning to return back to normal.

The spare bedroom in Sebastian’s new flat was now reserved for whenever Robin came to stay, even if his visits were only ever for one or two nights at a time. At first Robin had never been allowed to visit, or even set foot inside the blond’s new apartment - in-fact it took almost two years for Sebastian to even convince Annie that he was doing better, and was capable of looking after Robin by himself. Begrudgingly she had given in and agreed to make a deal, however that didn’t stop Sebastian from noticing the suspicious glares that he received every time he arrived to pick up his son at the weekends.

The break-up itself had been inevitable, and had occurred a year or so after Jim’s death. It soon became apparent that Annie enjoyed placing the blame solely upon Sebastian’s increasing paranoia, even though Sebastian argued that a ‘loveless relationship’ had also been one of the main contributors. At first they had been able to hide the arguments and Sebastian’s constant night terrors behind closed doors, but that was only because Robin had still been a baby at the time. It was only as he approached toddlerhood that he started to pick up on things more - whether that be the constant bickering from across the breakfast table most mornings, or the fact that mummy and daddy no longer slept in the same bed together.

The arguments they shared usually always revolved around Jim - or more specifically the onslaught of letters that kept arriving in the post.

They were the same type of letters that Sebastian had first received during his hotel-stay; each branded with the same wax seal and dowsed heavily in perfume to disguise the scent of the sender. Throughout the first year or so they had arrived repeatedly each month, sometimes containing little handwritten notes whilst other times they contained small objects or even nothing at all. Despite being infuriating, the letters provided Sebastian with a small shred of comfort - only for the fact that they gave him hope that Jim might still be alive somewhere, no doubt lurking the streets prying on his every move. He knew that realistically the letters probably came from the remains of Jim’s broken network, which was close to crumbling now that there was no longer a leader in charge. No doubt Jim’s little helpers were merely following instructions left by Jim prior to his death. But if false-hope was enough to stop Sebastian from offing himself then he was all for it.

Overtime the letters turned to gifts, from carefully-constructed notes to the occasional dead bird or cassette tape with Sebastian’s name displayed boldly on the label. The cassette tapes usually always contained some sort of strange music - whether they were old folk tunes or the Lighthouse Keeper song that Sebastian recalled first hearing whilst visiting the old house. They made for easy listening, even if Sebastian still couldn’t decipher what each one meant or connect the pieces together.

And then Sherlock Holmes made his grand return from the dead.

Sebastian had been sat in the doctor’s waiting room with a chickenpox-covered Robin when he had first seen the news of Holmes’ miraculous return broadcasted on the television. It had been completely out of the blue, and even the newsreaders seemed completely perplexed by the turn of events. That evening after the appointment he had raced home to see if there was anything waiting for him in the post, only to discover to his dismay that the letterbox was empty. After that he had waited, and waited, but no more letters or gifts arrived. And no matter how hard Sebastian attempted to cling to some ounce of hope, he was soon forced to accept that Jim Moriarty was well and truly dead, and he wasn’t coming back.

Nowadays the pills helped him to forget about Jim, not that Sebastian liked to admit it. They were the same blue capsules that he took every morning, along with his tea and bowl of cereal. It was a deeply-engrained routine at this point, with Sebastian finding himself under the watchful eye of his psychiatrist. The psychiatrist had described Sebastian’s moods as being a result of post-traumatic stress disorder, both from his experiences of war and from the deaths of his loved ones and the breakdown of his relationship. Shortly after the break-up he had been placed on a steady course of anti-depressants, mixed in with weekly sessions of therapy, and soon enough his night terrors and reoccurring visions of Jim were nothing more than a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

But the motivation for the blond’s recovery was purely down to his son. Robin Moran-Thomas was almost six-years-old now, an accomplishment that Sebastian still couldn’t quite believe. He was a wonderful kid, with a mop of long straw-coloured hair and an array of freckles which covered practically the entirety of his face. With a fascination with nature, their weekends together were usually spent at the beach, consisting of catching crabs or playing football on the sand. Robin was only a gentle creature, who would ‘never hurt a fly’ as Sebastian liked to put it; he was an affectionate boy, and could aways seem to tell whenever somebody was upset. Those traits must have come from his mother. They certainly didn’t come from Sebastian.

Alike any other Saturday morning, Sebastian found himself balanced precariously in-front of the mirror whilst he brushed his teeth and prepared for the short journey down to St Ives to collect his son. It was the first week of the summer holidays, and since Annie was away on a cruise with her new boyfriend, Tony, it meant that the blond had Robin to himself for a whole two weeks. He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t extremely looking forward to it; getting to spend a whole two weeks with the boy was practically unheard of, especially without the scornful gaze of his mother watching over him like a hawk.

The new flat Sebastian had bought for himself was near Lands End, only a short drive away from where he had originally been living. It was a funny place to live - only because of how disconnected it was from the rest of the world. Surrounding the town were huge cliffs, all of which dropped straight down to the coursing ocean below, accompanied by countless acres of fields and greenery. You occasionally had the jumpers, the people who felt as though they had no choice but to give up and end their lives, but that was only natural. And whenever Robin came to visit Sebastian always delivered the stern instruction that he was to ‘stay away from the cliff edge’. Not that Robin needed any reminding, of course.

It was only a small flat, the majority of income that Sebastian made from work at the fishing port went towards catering for Robin back at home, meaning that money was scarce. But it served it’s purpose well enough; going back to London had been completely out of the question, because of both the prospect of being so far away from Robin and the terrible memories that would only resurface. If anything he seemed destined to spend the rest of his life hidden away in the countryside. At least the sheep were good conversationalists. 

Sebastian didn’t mind so much, only because he was living alone nowadays. Unless you counted the dog that he had taken with him. The spare bedroom in the flat was reserved for whenever Robin came to stay over, with bright blue bedding and a cupboard full of stuffed animals and toys. Even Sebastian’s fridge was plastered with numerous drawings and paintings created by the little boy, but as he neared forty he could only assume that it meant he must be growing sentimental.

Sebastian spat out the toothpaste from his mouth and hastily splashed his face with water, grabbing the nearest towel to dry himself. Domestic life was a strange thing, and the effects had certainly started to show. Over time the muscles around his abdomen had swiftly disappeared, not to mention the scraggly beard that was beginning to make a comeback. One could argue that he was starting to let himself go, but Sebastian still found some ways of reclaiming his identity, the most noticeable being the tattoo brazened across his chest. It depicted a traditional tiger, tucked in a crouching position with its mouth wide open in order to show-off its fangs. The blond had been worried at first at how big it was and whether or not it might appear ugly, but Robin frequently expressed his approval of the tattoo during his visits - and if Robin liked it then that must mean it was worth it.

With a yawn, Sebastian scratched his beard and traipsed out of the bathroom, using his forearm to wipe away the remaining toothpaste from his lips. The glass was still cloudy from the previous night’s rainstorm, and whilst it was no longer raining a fierce wind had picked up instead, and begun to rattle at the windows and doors. The blond had hoped that perhaps he would be able to take Robin out for a swim, but with another storm brewing the sea currents would be far too dangerous.

It was past ten-o-clock when Sebastian finally arrived at the house. He had been forced to bring the old car with him, which by now was virtually on its last legs. The blond wasn’t sure how much life it had left in it, but judging by the failure of the engine that morning it would end up in the scrapheap soon enough. He still had his prized motorbike, but Annie was still adamant that Robin was far too young to ride it.

“You’re late,” Annie scolded him disapprovingly as Sebastian climbed out of the car and closed the door behind him.

They were both already waiting for the man outside, with Robin stood proudly next to his suitcase, which stood almost as tall as him and was covered in a bright dinosaur pattern. Despite the bad weather he still wore a triumphant grin across his face, a grin that only widened at the sight of his father.

“Robin worried that you weren’t coming.”

“Not coming?” Sebastian chuckled as he approached, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Since when have I ever broken a promise?”

Annie immediately shot him a warning glare, but the blond’s attention had already been diverted towards the little boy with the suitcase instead. At once his grin widened, and he crouched down and outstretched his arms so that the boy could run over to him, which he did so gleefully.

“Hey, little soldier!”

Sebastian scooped Robin up into his arms, spinning him around in the air whilst the boy shrieked and giggled in return. His hair was longer than Sebastian recalled it being, and had started to curl at the ends due to its length. Maybe during their two week stay together Sebastian could take him to the hairdressers and tidy it up slightly.

However his fantasies of hairdressers were soon disrupted by the sight of Robin’s missing front tooth, which Sebastian managed to catch a glimpse of whilst dangling Robin close to his face. Reluctantly he placed the boy down and raised an eyebrow of skepticism.

“What happened to your tooth?”

“Henry Davidson hit me with a football in the playground,” Robin chimed confidently, seemingly unbothered. “I swallowed it.”

“Henry Davidson?” Sebastian repeated uneasily. “Isn’t that the same boy who stole your sandwiches last month-“

“-The teachers are dealing with it. It’s fine, Seb,” Annie cut in dryly, offering Sebastian a stern glare which he could only translate as meaning _‘stop talking’_.

After checking to make sure the Robin was all packed and ready to go, Sebastian loaded the suitcase into the car boot, before in turn helping buckle Robin into his car seat which Annie had lent him for the journey. Whilst the small boy was preoccupied with a CD, Sebastian took the opportunity to say his final farewells to Robin’s mother.

“So, you and Tony then,” Sebastian hummed quietly, slipping his hands into his pockets as he came to stand with Annie.

She shot him a look, and despite her disapproval she appeared thankfully more relaxed this time.

“We’ve been together for two months now, this is our first holiday together,” Annie explained. “He’s from Greece, with a lovely accent too.”

“And what’s he like with Robin?”

“Oh they get along like a house on fire. Tony’s promised to take him out boating once the weather brightens up.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe.”

Annie pursed her lips, evidently bring to restrain herself from making a rash comment. Instead she decided to steer the conversation away from talk of her new boyfriend.

“How have you been?” She asked simply, and judging by the look in her eyes Sebastian could tell what she was referring to.

“I’ve…been fine,” Sebastian shrugged dismissively.

“Are you still taking the medication?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth.

“Every day,” he affirmed. “Doctor’s orders.”

“And what about the night terrors?”

“I told you, I’m better now.”

Annie nodded at the reassurance, and opened her mouth to speak before a buzz from her pocket interrupted her. Sebastian could just about make out the outline of a phone screen.“I should go. Tony will be here soon,” the blond announced finally, clearing his throat. “Have a nice cruise, Annie. I’ll take good care of him I promise.”

Sebastian took a step closer and they shared a brief embrace, before both pulling away when it became too awkward. Sebastian got back into the driver’s seat on the car, and rolled down the windows so that Robin could say goodbye to his mother before they drove off. The engine spluttered and hissed and soon enough they were on the road once more. The journey back to the flat went surprisingly smoothly, and soon enough Sebastian was tasked with dragging Robin’s suitcase up the staircase towards his apartment, whilst the young boy raced ahead so that he could say hello to the dog awaiting them.

The first day passed mostly uneventfully. After a trip to the supermarket and a brief outing to walk the dog they soon found themselves at home again, with the evening spent occupied with a game of snakes and ladders at the kitchen table. They played three games in total until finally it was time for Robin’s bed, all of which the young boy miraculously won. Sebastian decided not to tell him that he had lost on purpose. If anything he enjoyed watching Robin’s ‘laps of victory’ around the kitchen.

On day five of their stay together, Robin was adamant that he wanted to go to the beach and test out his new kite.

The idea had first been proposed over breakfast. Sebastian was stood by the counter at the time, attempting to make Robin a plate of boiled eggs and soldiers. Sebastian rarely cooked for himself when he was alone, most days consisted of sluggish microwave meals or the occasional takeaway, but Annie had left a list tucked inside Robin’s suitcase of his favourite meals, and it was Sebastian’s goal to appease the almost six-year-old. Robin was particularly fussy when it came to food; his slices of toast all had to be identical lengths, and the eggs had to be soft and runny otherwise he’d refuse to eat them and throw a temper tantrum.

That morning Sebastian was particularly proud of his creation, and deemed it to be the best plate of boiled eggs and soldiers that he had ever cooked. He handed them to Robin, who after examining them suspiciously began to tuck in, before slipping into the seat opposite from the boy with his own bowl of cereal.

“Mummy got it for me last week, she said you would help me fix it,” Robin expressed eagerly, his mouth now dripping with egg yolk as he polished off the remainder of his breakfast.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The string snapped an’ it won’t fly properly.”

The dog came plodding into the kitchen, no doubt to beg for some more food. It had become accustomed to begging ever since Robin’s arrival, which came as no surprise considering that the boy fed the dog practically anything and everything. And as expected, before Sebastian even had time to stop him Robin had already fed the dog a slice of toast, which it wolfed down contently before proceeding to wag its tail.

“Well we can fix that easily,” Sebastian promised, getting up to carry their empty plate and bowl over to the sink to wash. He allowed the taps to run for a few seconds, before turning back to face Robin.

“She’ll be good as new in no time.”

“She?”

Sebastian grinned.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just funny grown-up speak,” he assured the boy softly. “Now I’ll be up in a few minutes to help you get dressed okay? Why don’t you go pick out some clothes?”

“Can I wear my stripy jumper?”

“Only if you wear your raincoat too. It’s going to rain later and your mother will kill me if you get ill.”

Robin offered a final “okay!” before racing out of the kitchen and upstairs to his bedroom, the dog bounding swiftly after him. Sebastian watched as he left, listening to the faint patter of footsteps ascending the stairs until finally they stopped. He smiled to himself, and turned back to the washing-up at hand. The bottle of antidepressants sat on the counter not far from where he stood, almost completely empty now. He reached over, pouring the final two capsules into his hand before dropping them into his mouth and swallowing them. He’d need to go back to the doctor and get a refill tomorrow morning - perhaps Robin could sit in the waiting room with a colouring book.

As expected, by the time they reached the beach that afternoon a light rainfall had already started to descend upon the sleepy village. The wind levels were no longer as extreme as they had been a few days ago, making for excellent kite weather.

Before leaving, Sebastian had attempted to fix Robin’s kite using tape and a new string, and upon arrival at the beach the young boy was already raring to go. The blond carefully took ahold of the kite, crouching down so that Robin could hold onto it as well.

“Now you have to be very careful,” Sebastian explained firmly, gesturing towards the long string trailing from the main frame of the kite. “You have to hold on to the string at all times. Don’t let go, understand?”

Robin nodded obediently, and ever so slowly Sebastian let go of the frame as the structure soared up into the air.

“Hold on tight, Robin!”

The boy did as he was told, holding on to the string of the kite as tightly as he could as it became tangled in the wind. Sebastian watched with a pleased smile, admiring the kite as it soared higher and higher before occasionally swooping down like a bird. It was orange, with multicoloured tassels and a long white string protruding from the framework. Sebastian had to intervene every now and then to make sure that Robin didn’t lose control of the kite, and once the boy became confident enough to navigate it alone then he began to run with the kite down the length of the beach, laughing as he chased after a flock of seagulls in the distance.

At the sight of the boisterous six-year-old running towards them, the flock quickly scattered into the air, and Robin was forced to retreat back to where his father was already waiting for him. The seagulls settled back upon the sand again, this time a lot angrier than before, and they emitted loud squawks to convey their displeasure.

“Did y’ see me scaring the birds?” The boy asked with a breathless smile.

He came to a halt in-front of Sebastian, his pale cheeks now flooded with colour as he attempted to catch his breath. The blond gladly took the length of string from the boy’s hands, carefully easing the kite back down from the sky so that he could wrap it up and put it somewhere safe. The back of his rucksack would have to do for now.

“Of course I saw you, you were just like a true warrior,” Sebastian reassured him teasingly. “Just be careful next time, or you might end up as seagull food.”

They sat on a wooden picnic table for lunch that afternoon, a bag of fish and chips shared between them with the kite protectively stored away in Sebastian’s rucksack. Sebastian had been forced to exchange his portion of chips with Robin’s, only because the fry cook had poured too much vinegar on Robin’s chips and reduced him to tears. Sebastian admittedly didn’t like vinegar that much, but he was keen to avoid a tantrum so he gladly swapped the food around without complaint. The tears swiftly stopped and Robin ate the rest of his food quietly, making the occasional comment about the rain or the types of dinosaurs that he had learnt about from his new book.

After lunch Robin was keen to play with his new kite again, so Sebastian had agreed to ten more minutes whilst he watched from the safety of the picnic table. Whilst the boy played on the sand Sebastian took the opportunity to light up a quick cigarette for himself, and to check his phone for any messages. As expected there was an unread text from Annie, who as per usual was checking in to make sure that everything was okay. She and Sebastian had shared a brief phone call the previous night; apparently the cruise was wonderful, two weeks around the Mediterranean soaking up the sun with Tony by her side. What wasn’t to love? Sebastian fired off a quick text to Annie to reassure her that both he and Robin were fine, before taking a final drag from his cigarette and looking up to where Robin was running around on the sand.

_“You know, smoking isn’t an attractive habit.”_

The sudden voice came from behind. The words themselves didn’t frighten Sebastian, but instead the soft Irish drawl that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle with every . The blond’s head dizzied and his whole body grew rigid, causing him to subsequently lose grip of his cigarette as it became lost in the wind. Amidst his disorientation he couldn’t help but wonder if the voice was real, or if it was just another one of his hallucinations that the antidepressants hadn’t managed to fix yet. Suddenly the fish and chips from earlier were starting to make him feel nauseous.

No more words came, but Sebastian was still fully-aware of the man’s presence stood behind him. It was a minute or so until he regained his movement once more, raising a shaky hand up to his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The pain grounded him, and soon enough Sebastian garnered enough courage to finally turn around.

Only this time it dawned on him that it wasn’t just another hallucination.

“Go away, James.”

Despite being older now, Jim somehow managed to look as though he hadn’t aged one day. His suit, though ruffled by the wind, was undoubtably an infamous one of his Westwoods, whilst his face still retained its silky smooth texture and showed no signs of wrinkling; and whilst now certainly wasn’t the time to get envious, Sebastian couldn’t help but feel the slightest sting of jealousy.

Jim was smiling, a cruel, twisted smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

God, his face was punchable.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” The dead man grinned.

Robin was still meddling with the kite in the distance, completely oblivious as to what was happening back on the mainland. So oblivious that he thankfully wasn’t there to witness the sudden punch delivered to Jim Moriarty’s face.


	25. Ashes to Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim catches up.

“How’s baby Puck?”

Robin had been put to bed an hour ago, leaving James and Sebastian alone in the living room of the apartment.

“His name is Robin,” Sebastian corrected Jim disapprovingly, leaning forward to pass the irishman another wet towel. “And he isn’t a baby anymore, James.”

Jim’s face was still caked in blood from the day’s events, his nose covered in the dried remains of Sebastian’s earlier punch. Their trip to the beach had been forcibly cut-short, not made any easier by Robin’s confused protests as he was forced to end his kite session early. Before the drive home Sebastian had been obligated to buy an ice-cream in order to try and appease the sulky five-year-old, as well as to prevent him from asking too many questions about the strange man that daddy had punched in the face. The ploy appeared to work for the most part, and shortly after eating his ice-cream Robin had fallen asleep; but also joining them was Jim, who Sebastian had sternly relegated to the backseat next to Robin, and kept checking on every so often just to make sure that he was still there. But judging by the man’s bloodied face it was safe to say that he was definitely real.  
  
“Well you named him after a Shakespeare character. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I read it myself.”

“I don’t read Shakespeare anymore.”

“I noticed,” Jim confirmed vainly, gesturing to the cassette tape in the corner of the room.

Though they were dusty, the pile of cassette tapes still remained stacked high. For the past four years or so Sebastian had kept them there, sometimes to play but mostly just to look at them. But now that Jim was back they just looked so out-of-place sat there, and no doubt by the following morning they’d already be in the rubbish bin.

“Ashes to Ashes, David Bowie. I chose that one specially for you.”

Sebastian followed Jim’s gaze, his eyes landing upon the cassette tape in question. He had never particularly enjoyed David Bowie’s music himself, but the song was so very much Jim’s style. Ashes to Ashes. It had arrived in the post just a few days after Sebastian set alight to his Shakespeare novels, much to the blond’s discontent. But looking back on it he should have realised that it was from Jim. The clues had been so painfully obvious.

“You watched me for five whole years?” The blond asked, forcing his attention away from the cassette tapes and towards Jim instead.

He was wearing only his dress-shirt now, with the top buttons undone and the wet flannel still pressed against his nose. Every now and then he emitted the occasional groan or curse, though Sebastian was having a hard time feeling any ounce of sympathy for him. He himself was dressed in a t-shirt and pair of pyjama shorts, finding a great amount of satisfaction in watching the irishman squirm and fidget.

“I kept tabs now and then,” Jim agreed begrudgingly, eventually lowering the flannel and wincing ever so slightly.

“Is that how you found me here?”

“Obviously. It’s not every day that an ex army soldier moves to Lands End.”

A faint creak sounded from the staircase, but Sebastian’s relief it was only the dog and not the little boy. By the lack of sound from upstairs Sebastian could only assume that Robin was still asleep, and slowly he leant forward to retrieve a cigarette from his pocket, and hand it to Jim.

But Jim only shook his head.

“I don’t smoke anymore,” he explained nonchalantly. “I’m a reformed man.”

The blond snorted at the words. Since Jim didn’t want the cigarette, he decided to light it for himself instead.

“Are you going to tell me then?” Sebastian asked.

“Tell you what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“You’ll have to clarify, darling.”

Sebastian bit his tongue instinctively at the nickname, attempting to hold back any hint of irritation, before promptly lowering his cigarette.

“Why you disappeared for so long,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Why you let me go mad.”

Jim didn’t seem at all phased by the question, in-fact he was smiling as though it was he considered it to be an accomplishment.

“Do you remember the first thing I ever sent you, Sebastian?”

“Dunno,” Sebastian lied, taking another long drag in an attempt to calm his nerves.

He could just about see Jim watching him from the corner of his eye, unmoving. The irishman’s gaze was fixed intently upon him to the point where it was almost sinister. James wasn’t smiling this time, if anything he was beginning to look rather irritated.

“It was a letter. I sent it to you during your stay at the Queen’s Inn Hotel.”

When it became clear that Sebastian wasn’t going to respond, Jim took it upon himself to continue:  
  
“It was an extract from Hamlet. Act one, scene five.”

“But you’ve never read Hamlet.”

“I didn’t need to,” Jim explained calmly. “I knew it would be enough to frighten you. That one little passage held enough information in it to serve as a clear warning. I knew you’d be able to decipher it, even if it did turn you mad.”

“And the trick with the vinyl?”

“Oh, that wasn’t a trick. I just wanted to have some fun… I figured Lighthouse Keeper was a fitting choice of song.”

The smoke from the cigarette had started to surround the room, and even Sebastian was beginning to grow uncomfortable. He slowly rose to his feet, opening the window and crushing the butt against the brickwork. The embers quickly died out, and once he was satisfied he flicked the stick out onto the street below, all under the watchful gaze of Jim.

Jim had fallen awfully quiet, and the blond could only presume that it was because it was getting late. By the time he closed the window and resumed his previous seat, the irishman already looked lost in thought. He had become distracted by the sight of the fridge, more so the paintings and drawings stuck to the exterior.

“He’s no Picasso, is he?”

“He’s five, James.”

Jim hummed softly, slowly getting to his feet before traipsing over to where the fridge stood across the room. His walk was cockier than Sebastian recalled it being, with a bounce to every step. Soon enough the irishman prized one of the paintings from where it was stuck to the top of the fridge and held it in his hands; the painting depicted two messy handprints, created with red paint and sprinkled with glitter, with clumsy handwriting at the bottom reading ‘ _Robin. Aged three._ ’ Sebastian watched closely as Jim toyed around with the painting in his hands, almost frightened that the man might ruin it if he wasn’t careful.

The painting was the blond’s personal favourite, only because of how small and precious Robin’s hands looked in it, back when he had been so much smaller. He had been gifted it one father’s day along with a box of chocolates and a mug that read ‘world’s best dad’. The chocolates had already all been eaten by the end of the first night, and the mug was long-since chipped and resided somewhere in one of the cupboards, but the painting was Sebastian’s utmost pride and joy.

Jim ran his finger across the glitter on the page, and Sebastian immediately stepped forward.

“Careful, you might damage it.”

Obediently Jim pulled his hand away, however that didn’t stop him from examining the spidery writing scrawled at the bottom of the page. A lazy smile curled at the edge of his lips, and he raised the paper closer to his eyes so that he could properly observe it. The sight made Sebastian’s stomach knot, whilst his hands grew jittery in anticipation.

“How does it feel to be the father who only sees his son on the weekends?” Jim cooed thoughtfully.

The words were unexpected, and caused Sebastian to go immediately red in the face. He cleared his throat, snatching the painting from Jim’s hands and pinning it back onto the fridge door where it belonged. He spent a minute carefully adjusting it, though upon turning around once more he was greeted with the sight of Jim smiling. It was the same smile that he had been wearing at the beach earlier that day. The one that had earned him the punch.

Before he could help himself, Sebastian grabbed Jim by the collar of his shirt and hurled him back against the wall. The man landed with a dull thud, with Sebastian practically towering over him as he stood pressed up against the paintwork. He attempted to squirm, but to no avail.

“You don’t get to come back here after five years of playing dead and criticise my life, James Moriarty,” the blond breathed spitefully through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to magically turn up and ruin my son’s life.”

The irishman only managed a shaky breath in response, until suddenly something caught his eye from across the room.

“Too late.”

Jim pointed to the door where the small figure of the boy stood, still half-asleep and draped in his pyjamas. Robin was hovering in the doorway, no doubt having been woken up by the noises from downstairs; he carried with him the stuffed tiger in his arms, a hazy expression painted across his freckled face.

Sebastian reluctantly let go of Jim, who in turn proceeded to use his hands to brush the creases out of his dress-shirt. He tentatively approached Robin, lifting the boy carefully up into his arms so that he could attempt to soothe him. He cursed himself internally for having been so reckless.

“Hey, little soldier, what’s wrong? It’s way past your bedtime,” the blond murmured softly to the small child.

He pressed a small kiss to Robin’s temple however the boy was evidently disinterested by it, instead peering over Sebastian’s shoulder in order to catch a glimpse of Jim, who was stood on the far-side of the room. Jim said nothing, he merely raised a skeptical eyebrow in response to Robin’s stares, to which the young boy grinned at toothily.

“Who’s he?” Robin whispered in Sebastian’s ear, tugging on the sleeve of the blond’s t-shirt in order to garner his attention.

His voice was soft as he spoke, almost as though he was worried about Jim overhearing. The boy’s attempts to gain his father’s attention must have worked, as soon enough Sebastian turned around and his gaze settled upon the sight of Jim. He went momentarily quiet, unsure what to say, but Robin was growing impatient in his arms and the blond was forced to give in.

“He’s your Uncle Jim,” Sebastian stated simply, forcing his gaze away so that he didn’t have to look at Jim’s perplexed expression.

Though whilst Jim looked bewildered, Robin on the other hand seemed more than excited. It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to get the boy so excited when he was supposed to be sleeping, but Sebastian was simply glad that Robin didn’t appear to be too troubled by the news.

“Uncle Jim?”

Sebastian nodded, however his expression quickly grew stern. Robin must have picked up on it, as his smile soon replaced itself with a frown.

“You have to promise me that you won’t tell your mummy about this, okay?”

“Why?”

“Because otherwise I won’t be allowed to see you again,” Sebastian explained firmly.

His face was stony and unsmiling, almost as if the thought alone was enough to make him shiver. Jim remained silent from the far-end of the room, surveying both father and son with an almost wary expression.

“Now promise.”

Robin looked first to Jim for advice, though when it became clear that he wasn’t going to give any, he slowly turned his attention back towards Sebastian. After some initial hesitance, he finally offered a sleepy nod.

“I promise.”

The two-word answer seemed to satisfy Sebastian enough, who then proceeded to carry Robin back upstairs to bed again. He traipsed carefully through the dimly-lit bedroom, as to avoid tripping on any of the boy’s toys scattered across the carpet, before finally lowering Robin into bed and wrapping him up under the covers. The young boy stifled a soft yawn, curling up under the duvet cover as he clung to the stuffed tiger in his arms. His grip was tight, enough so that he could have easily burst the stitching. Usually Sebastian was tasked each night with having to read him a story before bed, but that night Robin was already fast asleep in an instant.

With a lopsided smile, Sebastian carefully brushed back the boy’s fair hair before pressing a kiss to his temple and easing himself slowly up from the bed. Jim was already awaiting him, leant in the doorway with his arms folded. The majority of blood had vanished now, leaving only red blotches across the irishman’s nose. No doubt by the morning they’d already have turned to bruises.

“I take it I’m sleeping on the sofa tonight?” He asked quizzically.

Sebastian snorted at the question, ushering Jim swiftly out of the doorway so that he could close the door behind him. He waited until the door was firmly shut before daring to speak aloud.

“Surely you’re used to it by now.”

The blond moved past Jim, opening the door of the cupboard so that he could retrieve a spare blanket for the man. The only blanket he could find was a green dinosaur-patterned one, much alike the pattern on Robin’s suitcase. It was an old blanket, the one that Robin sometimes used when he was sick with a fever. Sebastian handed it to Jim, who scrunched his nose up in dismay at the sight. He waited for the inevitable criticism, however surprisingly Jim said nothing. He merely rolled up the blanket into a log shape and bundled it under his arm.

“I bought him that tiger toy,” Jim declared suddenly, the slightest hint of smugness in his voice. “I didn’t think he still liked it.”

“Robin sleeps with it every night,” Sebastian confirmed, leading Jim downstairs to his makeshift bed for the night. “They’re inseparable.”

The irishman chuckled lowly at the revelation, dumping the blanket down onto the sofa as he attempted to flatten it out. Sebastian watched as he did so, deciding that Jim didn’t need any help. And for perhaps the first time since the afternoon’s events, he allowed himself to smile.

“And James?”

“Hm?"

“Welcome back.”

Breakfast the next morning consisted of the three of them at the kitchen table, Almost immediately it had become apparent that the table in Sebastian’s flat was not big enough to seat all of them together, leaving the three of them squashed uncomfortably together as they sipped on their cups of tea and attempted to spread jam on their slices of toast.

Jim was dressed in a loose t-shirt and pair of shorts, much unlike the sleek Westwood that he had adorned the day prior. Sebastian had been the one to find the clothes for him, tucked away in the back of his wardrobe; and because of this the shirt was baggy and practically engulfed the irishman, trailing down to his knees much like a dress would. Sebastian was the odd one out, already dressed in a grey overcoat whilst he attempted to wolf down his slices of toast as quickly as possible. He had an appointment with his psychiatrist in less than an hours time in order to refill his medication, with Jim reluctantly agreeing to babysit Robin whilst he was gone.

As they ate their breakfasts, the radio in the corner of the room crackled and hummed. It had been playing music for the duration of the morning, until a few minutes ago when it had switched to the main news stories of the day.

_“Another person is reported to have taken their life after a body was found washed up on the shore in the early hours of this morning. The victim, whose body has not yet been identified, is believed to have jumped from the cliff top, making them the third known person this year to have committed suicide-”_

Before the news anchor could finish, Sebastian, who had been in the midst of finishing his tea, hastily got up to turn over the radio station. The news story was quickly replaced by an overly-energetic pop song, and the blond awkwardly sat himself back down again.

Robin didn’t appear too phased by the news of the dead body, far too busy attempting to smear strawberry jam all over his plate, whilst Jim on the other hand had gone noticeably pale. Sebastian looked over at him, only for the two to share a brief grimace. The talk of suicide was enough to put anybody off of their breakfast, especially Jim who appeared to have barely even touched his.

Thankfully Sebastian’s phone buzzed not long afterwards, and he took the opportunity to excuse himself from the table. He ruffled Robin’s hair on the way out, as well as offering Jim a brief pat on the shoulder.

“Robin, make sure you look after Uncle Jim while I’m gone,” the blond instructed, grabbing a last slice of toast as he clamped it between his teeth, before waving goodbye to the pair at the table.

The door closed swiftly behind him, and after a few minutes Sebastian could be seen departing from the block of flats and climbing into the small rickety car. The table was still littered with empty plates and stray crumbs of toast, and after doing a general sweep Jim decided that he would simply clean up the rest of the mess later. He stuck the remainder of the plates into the sink basin, before turning back to discover Robin watching him with eagle-eyes.

“Are you really my uncle?” The young boy blurted out all of a sudden, unable to help himself.

“That’s subjective,” Jim informed him bluntly, moving past the boy so that he could settle down in the living room.

But the tiny patter of footsteps from behind alerted Jim that Robin was following him. And even as he sat down on the sofa, the young boy took a seat directly in-front of him.

“Why do you talk like that?” He asked again.

It soon dawned on Jim, who had been hoping for some peace and quiet, that the peace he was longing for was virtually impossible with the five-year-old sat in-front of him. His neck and back still ached from the previous night’s sleep. Somehow the sofa in Sebastian’s new flat was even more uncomfortable than the one he had slept on back when Robin was still only a newborn, and to spend another night on the shabby couch would be classed as no less than torture. Jim gently massaged the crook of his neck, before casting his attention down towards the young boy with an unimpressed demeanour.

“Talk like what?” He retorted.

But Robin only shrieked with glee, and pointed an accusing finger.

“Like that!”

“That’s just my accent, I can’t help it,” Jim sniffed scornfully as he reached for the remote control.

He turned on the television, watching as the screen immediately lit up with some boring programme about antiques. He attempted to change the channel, but Robin’s head was in the way of the screen so he had no choice but to try and shoo him away. His attempts quickly proved unsuccessful, and the five-year-old remained firmly rooted to the spot.

“I’ve seen you before,” Robin declared suddenly, his voice far more boisterous than it had been previously.

Jim blamed it on the sugary jam from breakfast.

“That’s impossible,” the irishman dismissed plainly, ignoring Robin’s determined cries as he stood up and pressed the button the television remote.

At once the channel changed, with the screen now displaying what Jim could only assume to be a documentary about animals. By the looks of it it was feeding time at the zoo. He would have changed the channel again, not particularly being the biggest fan of nature documentaries himself, but Robin’s protests were getting the better of him and eventually he gave in and sat back down.

“So go on then, elaborate.”

“Huh?”

Jim rolled his eyes, stretching back against the sofa and tossing the remote away.

“You told me that you’ve seen me before. Where?” He demanded.

Almost at once the boy got to his feet and tottered out of the room. At first Jim was almost worried that he had upset Robin, only because he knew Sebastian wouldn’t be impressed when he found out, however soon enough Robin’s beckons could be heard from the top of the stairs. The irishman tried to ignore them at first, but judging by the boy’s tone he was growing impatient. With a low groan of despair he rose to his feet, deciding to give up with his attempts to watch the television as he made his way upstairs.

It was only a short journey, the only obstacle being the dog who was curled up asleep on one of the steps, and soon enough Jim was able to locate Robin in his bedroom. It certainly wasn’t the biggest bedroom, or the most nicely decorated, but Jim had to remind himself that it was only temporary. After all, Robin was still technically a Moran, and Morans were prone to moving from house to house.

The irishman couldn’t see what the boy was searching for at first. He had crouched down onto his stomach, and was in the midst of rummaging through the pile of clutter under his bed. Whilst he was preoccupied, Jim took the chance to examine the room; there was an abundance of stuffed animals, as well as books and the infamous kite which was propped up against the windowsill. By the time Robin reemerged he was brandishing something in his hand, and upon closer inspection Jim realised what it was.

It was a photograph, dated five years prior with writing scrawled upon the back reading ‘Jim and Robin’. And upon flipping it over to the front, Jim was immediately greeted with the sight of both him and the young boy, who at the time had been no more than just a newborn. In the photo he was holding Robin in his arms, and despite the terrible quality it was easy to see how unimpressed he was. The date on the photograph meant that it must have been around Summer, which would have made sense judging by the shorts and vest-top that Jim was dressed in. And by that same standard it meant that it must have been the last photograph taken before his 'death'.

“Do you know who that is?” Jim asked quietly, lowering the photograph so that Robin could see it.

The boy peered at the photograph, however his expression remained unchanged. He shrugged innocently.

“I dunno.”

An amused smile curled at Jim’s lips, and he gestured towards the baby pictured in the photograph.

“That’s you, Robin,” he explained simply, handing the photo over to Robin, who in turn held it closely up to his face so that he could gawk at it.

“But I’m not a baby,” the boy protested.

He lowered the photograph, and instead of returning it to its spot underneath the bed he placed it carefully upon his chest of drawers, right next to where the toy tiger was perched. Jim watched in silence, feeling the hairs on the back of neck tingle ever so sightly. Even the boy’s mannerisms were dainty, from the way he delicately moved his stuffed toys out of the way, to how he looked back up at Jim with wide, fascinated eyes. They were still the same brilliant blue, he was certainly Sebastian’s son.

“You were once,” The irishman corrected him, an arrogant smile curled at the edge of his lips.

“But that was a long time ago.”


	26. Afghanistan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian faces difficulties at his appointment, whilst Jim and Robin go for a walk.

Over time Sebastian had grown accustomed to the doctor’s waiting room; from the same lime green walls, to the same young receptionist who was always half-asleep and chewing on a piece of gum whenever he entered.

Today he found himself squeezed between two other patients, one with a gleeful toddler balanced in her lap whilst the other was suffering from a rather nasty chest cough. The cough filled the entirety of the waiting room, causing a few other patients to look away and conceal their mouths with their hands. The little television in the corner as per usual was showing the news, some lowbrow story about a farm in Yorkshire. Sebastian observed the television with disinterest, watching as the news-correspondent interviewed a particular grumpy-looking farmer, until suddenly it dawned on him that somebody was looking at him.

Sebastian looked down at the chair beside him, realising that the person in question happened to be the toddler, who was staring at him with wide eyes full of of interest. The toddler’s mother appeared preoccupied with her phone, so when she wasn’t looking Sebastian pulled a few faces at the young child. The child in turn looked more than delighted, and proceeded to shriek and clap her chubby hands. The toddler reminded him of Robin back when he had still been that small, his miraculous ability to laugh at anything and everything, even when there was nothing funny happening. Her laughing however was soon interrupted by the sound of gunfire coming from the television.

The news story had changed, and now depicted the sight of a war-zone in Afghanistan, where the soldiers were in the midst of firing at each-other. There was a child’s body strewn on the ground, seriously injured if not dead.

At once Sebastian’s face dropped, and the toddler must have sensed his change of mood as she quickly stopped laughing. The dead body on the television was enough to leave him speechless, his mouth dry whilst his hands became cold and clammy. He could remember them clearly now, the countless children and civilians he had come across whilst fighting, still etched deeply into the walls of his conscience. Sammi and Vida - the two little girls he had met whilst out on patrol one night. By the next morning they were already dead. A bomb detonation had blasted through the little town during nightfall whilst they had been sleeping.

It was a few minutes or so when Sebastian finally regained his senses, his trembling hands and legs coming to a stop as he looked around at the room. The war coverage was long-past gone, and the mother with the toddler had swiftly stood up to move, taking a seat at the opposite end of the room from Sebastian. She didn’t say anything, however the way she was staring made it seem as though he was some strange type of specimen. Sebastian opened his mouth to apologise, before thankfully he was interrupted by a voice at the door.

“Sebastian Moran?"

It was Sebastian’s usual doctor who stood awaiting him, a balding man with a pleasant smile and round-rimmed glasses. He gestured for the blond to follow him, and Sebastian gratefully hurried along to join him, leaving the disgruntled patients behind him. The pair walked in silence at first, up the long staircase towards where the office was waiting for them. It was only a small office; with a table and chair in the middle, a bed against the wall and a toy box in the corner for any children who might want to play. Sebastian had taken Robin to the same office on multiple occasions before, most recently when he had fallen off of the monkey bars in the school playground and sprained his wrist.

The doctor sat down on one of the chairs, and Sebastian promptly followed suit.

“So how have you been, Sebastian? Enjoying the summer?” The bald man asked politely, crossing his legs and retrieving a file from the side of his desk.

He flipped through it thoughtfully, scouring the pages until eventually something caught his attention. Judging by the messy red writing it was no-doubt his notes. The blond watched distractedly, until remember that the man had asked him a question. He rubbed his thighs gingerly, offering a strained smile.  
  
“Hm? Oh yes… it’s been fine,” Sebastian stated plainly, watching as the doctor began to scribble down a few notes.

He couldn’t quite see what he was writing, but the action of the pen scratching against the paper was making him grow irritated. Sebastian gritted his teeth, looking away momentarily to compose himself.

“And how’s little Robbie?”

“Hm?”

“Sorry,” the doctor apologised quickly, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “Robin, I mean. It’s only Annie calls him Robbie whenever she comes for an appointment.”

“I see.”

So how is he? I hardly recognise him anymore, he’s gotten so tall.”

Sebastian cleared his throat, forcing his attention back towards the doctor. He could only half-hear what the man was saying, the rest sounded muffled as though he was deep underwater. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t get himself to concentrate. He just kept thinking about them. The bodies.

“He’s doing well,” The blond affirmed with a half-hearted smile. “He’s staying with me for the next two weeks. His mother is away on holiday.”

The doctor immediately chuckled. A blissfully ignorant chuckle.

“That’s wonderful, Sebastian,” he mused in agreement. “I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun together.”

The doctor had a habit of doing that, of missing out on the ever-obvious signals that something was wrong. It was almost as if he was convinced that nothing was wrong, and that any person could be cured just by offering a shit-eating grin. The grin made Sebastian want to punch the stupid man in the face, but his knuckled were already bruised from hitting Jim the day prior. The blond flexed his hand momentarily, glancing down as he admired the black and blue blots staining his skin. They reminded him of watercolour paint in the sense that they were subtle, but still extremely noticeable.

It only dawned on Sebastian that he had been staring at his hand for a prolonged amount of time when the doctor cleared his throat, and forcibly he snapped his head up to face him.

“Is everything okay, Sebastian? You seem distant.”

Sebastian blinked. There it was again. The war-zone.

The balding man offered yet another quizzical raise of his eyebrow, his smile now completely vanished. He was watching Sebastian closely, causing the hairs on the back of the blond’s neck to stand upright and prickle. For a moment Sebastian shivered, until suddenly he smiled.

“I’ve never been better,” he stated dryly.

A short-lived amount of small talk pursued, and soon enough Sebastian collected his medication before swiftly descending down the front-steps of the doctor’s office. He ignored the receptionist as he departed, which made no difference considering she had already left for her lunch break.

All throughout the appointment his phone had been incessantly buzzing, and it was only as Sebastian retrieved the device from his pocket that he saw who the culprit was. It was no surprise to find that Jim was behind it, from countless text messages to the occasional attempt at calling. But each time his messages had simply gone straight to voicemail.

Sebastian waited until he was safely tucked away inside of his car before phoning Jim back, now feeling an undeniable pang of fear residing in his gut. Hundreds of thoughts were racing through his mind, the main one being that he shouldn’t have left Jim alone with Robin. James Moriarty had been gone for five years, and on top of that he was supposed to be dead. If Annie ever found out about his little scheme then no doubt he’d be banned from seeing Robin for the rest of eternity, and the thought of that didn’t sit quite right with the blond.

“For fucks sake, James. Answer your phone.”

Sebastian attempted to phone him once more, this time eventually managing to get through. The other side of the line was crackly and muffled, however it was a few seconds before Sebastian actually heard James’ voice. But it didn’t seem breathless, or even the slightest bit panicked.

“James?”

“Where were you? You’ve been gone for forever.”

Judging by the background noise Robin was there too, but it was hard to distinguish what the young boy was saying or even doing. Jim’s voice was still muffled, accompanied now by the low howl of wind, which scratched and hissed at the phone line.

“I should ask where you are,” Sebastian interjected skeptically, his brow creasing at the sound of the wind in the background.

The closer he listened in, the more noise Sebastian could make out. The wind alone was enough to suggest that the duo were up somewhere high, and the faint crash of waves in the background only added to Sebastian’s sense of discontent. Then it dawned on him.

“Are you on the cliff top?”

There came no reply at first, not until Jim suddenly let out a muffled laugh.

“You worry too much, darling.”

“That’s not an answer.”

The mother and toddler from earlier filed out out of the doctor’s office, and the woman glanced disapprovingly towards the car window as she passed. Sebastian watched as she left out of the car mirror, his nose scrunching up in dismay as he held the phone closer his ear, practically gripping the sides with his nails now. But unsurprisingly Jim didn’t answer, and Sebastian was forced to sit and endure the ceaseless gusts of wind.

“Get down from there James. You know I don’t like it up there.”

Sebastian couldn’t be sure if his commands were heard or not, as without warning the phone call suddenly cut off, and the line went dead. With a growl of irritation he tossed his phone onto the dashboard, watching as it slid across the surface and knocked into the bottle of pills that had been sitting there. The bottle subsequently fell over, the blue capsules rattling around inside, and with a dull groan Sebastian slumped back against his seat.

He raised a hand to steady himself, well-aware that his fingertips were now trembling the same as they had been inside the doctor’s office. Sebastian slowly exhaled, allowing his hands to rest on-top of his face as he breathed deeply. That was a trick taught to him by his therapist a year or so ago. To breathe. The blond had learnt it during one of his first therapy sessions, where the therapist had sat before him and instructed him to take ten long breathes. Sebastian had done so unwillingly, only afterwards to find himself feeling a lot more in control.

The therapy helped a lot, more than Sebastian gave it credit for. On the days where he found himself unable to even leave his bed he’d call his therapist on the phone, and they’d sit for an hour and discuss grounding techniques and ways to cope. Those days happened a lot more regularly than Sebastian told people they did, the main person being Annie. He didn’t tell her that he still suffered from the same night terrors occasionally, or that sometimes his hands trembled so badly that he found himself unable to make a cup of tea.

Sebastian finally removed his hands from his face, looking down to where his phone laid abandoned on the dashboard. But there were no new messages or missed calls. Whatever Jim was doing it must have been important.

James had been stood on the cliff top for just under an hour now, all the time without moving.

The air was cold and nipped around the tips of his ears and face, whilst below him the sea crashed against the rock-face, hurling all of its might at the defenceless stones and sea-birds. From where he stood it was particularly high-up, and to reach the sea below would be a vast drop. A drop enough to kill a man, no doubt. Then again that was why the spot was so popular - not for the tourists but for the jumpers.

Robin played not far behind him, running along the grass with the dog in tow, a large stick clasped in his hands as he waved it about. The young boy was screeching and laughing, and every so often Jim could make out words like “ _slow down_!” or “ _I’m going to get you!_ ” The laughter was relentless, as were the dog barks and whimpers that accompanied it. Jim hadn’t wanted to take the dog with them, but it had whimpered and scratched persistently at the door so in the end he had had no choice. The presence of the dog ruined Jim’s grand scheme, but then again so did the presence of the small five-year-old.

Eventually, Jim pulled away from the sea, beckoning for Robin to come join him instead. The young boy did so obediently, dropping his stick and bouncing over. He looked cold in just his pyjamas and shoes, but with Sebastian at the doctors Jim had been unable to dress him without the boy flying off into a tantrum. The boy shivered as he stood, leaning in instinctively closer to Jim at the sight of the violent waves coursing below.

“Can we go home now?” Robin snivelled hopefully, his bottom lip quivering slightly as a particularly large wave crashed against the shore, frightening the flock of seagulls that had been residing there and causing them to scatter.

Jim glanced down at the young boy, pondering the question momentarily before brushing it aside. Instead he simply smiled.

“I told you I was taking you to see the whales, didn’t I?” He reminded the boy, to which the five-year-old dint look entirely convinced by.

“But there aren’t any whales.”

“There are. You just can’t see them because they’re all the way down there.”

Jim pointed a finger down towards the water below where a few stray pieces of rock sat in between the water, all of which were sopping wet and covered in seaweed. They were all eroded more or less from the constant battering of the sea, leaving only the jagged remains behind. There were no whales, but he didn’t have to reveal that just yet.

Robin sniffed warily, tottering slightly on the edge of the cliff as he attempted to look down at where Jim was pointing. His shoe scuffed slightly against the tip of the rock, and if a sudden gust of wind came then he’d be knocked over in an instant.

“But I can’t see anything.”

It would have taken one push, one minuscule tap on the shoulder for the boy to lose his balance and to send him toppling over the edge. Not only that but he’d be defenceless - nobody, not even Sherlock Holmes, would be able to survive such a dangerous drop as this one. His body would crash onto the rocks below, and it would be a miracle for anybody to recover it.

For a few seconds Jim considered it, his hand outstretched and poised ready to strike, yet for some reason he found himself unable to. Even if the jealousy swarming around his head was relentless he still found himself unable to kill the boy, or even scare him for that matter. Instead he swore under his breath, retracting his hand and taking a step back away from the cliff edge.

“Maybe the whales are just hiding, today.”

Robin hadn’t done anything wrong, apart from existing in the first place, and not only that but he made Sebastian happy. Jim could remember how proud Sebastian had been on the first night, curled up with him on the sofa whilst the newborn’s head rested against his chest. It was a time of happiness that Jim hadn’t been able to provide, not yet anyway. Robin Moran-Thomas, with his big blue eyes and his constant smiling; while it may have been intoxicating, jim couldn’t deny that he looked so much like his father.

The five-year-old realised that Jim was no longer beside him, and hastily scrambled to join him away from the cliff-edge. He was still shivering, and reluctantly Jim scooped him up in his arms, using the coat to attempt to shield him ever so slightly from the wind.

“Can I ask you something, Robin?” Jim asked finally, taking a few more steps back from the cliff edge just to make sure that they were perfectly safe.

The dog was nowhere to be seen, Jim assumed it was off elsewhere hunting for sticks.

“Why is your father so afraid of the cliff top?”

Robin remained snuggled up comfortably against Jim’s coat, his short legs wrapped around the man’s waist to prevent him from falling. He seemingly contemplated the question for a minute or so, another gust of wind swooping down upon them and causing him to gasp.  
  
“Cause they’re dangerous,” the five-year-old explained simply, shooting a knowing frown to Jim.

“How come?”

“It’s where the jumpers go.”

“Jumpers?”

Robin nodded adamantly, his frown now resembling more a scowl.

“Daddy says it’s not safe, that if you get too close to the edge then you’ll slip an’ fall.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, looking down towards the young boy nestled between his coat. He was very smart for a five year old, either that or he was just good at remembering lots of information. The irishman had a feeling it was the latter.

“Do you ever get scared about falling?” He asked out of curiosity.

Robin nodded quickly in agreement.

“Uh huh,” he sniffed. “Cause I can’t swim.”

Jim didn’t respond to Robin’s answer, he merely smiled and continued walking. He could see the dog now, it’s fluffy head poking out from above a tall area of grass. Upon spotting them its tail began to wag and the dog quickly bounded over and came to join them, causing Robin to squeal with glee.

The walk down from the cliff-top was long and tiring, not helped by the five-year-old that was currently clinging on to Jim for dear life. Every so often he would start to slip, and attempt to grab onto Jim’s clothing to stop himself from falling - whether that was yanking on to his shirt collar, or pulling on his tie and causing the irishman to swear.

Even the dog was beginning to grow restless as they neared the bottom, its paws plodding slowly against the grass and stone. The irishman kept a firm hold of Robin, this time deciding that he wouldn’t let him fall. He only let go of Robin upon reaching the bottom of the cliff, and even then he was hesitant about placing him down.

“Robin?”

“Hm?”

“One last thing,” Jim interjected warily. “Don’t tell your father about what we were doing up here when we get home, just tell him that we were looking for whales.”

The smile immediately dropped from Robin’s face, and he looked back up towards the man.

“But we _were_ looking for whales.”


	27. The Beach Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian organises a day out.

The week that followed passed without any incident, and on Saturday it was Sebastian who came up with the idea for a barbecue.

When it was warm, dozens of people tended to flock to the beach, especially during the Summer Holidays when children were no longer cooped up in school. The majority happened to be tourists, with the occasional local scattered about here and there. And on Saturday the sudden bout of sunny weather certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed; to Sebastian’s dismay the whole beach was swarming with people, from young families and their children to old couples sharing their fish and chips by the promenade.

It had taken a significant amount of convincing to persuade Jim to come along, and in the end Sebastian had only won after offering to buy the man an ice-cream as solace. Ever since he and Robin had ventured home from the cliff-top, Jim had been in a particularly sour mood. Sebastian had tried asking numerous different times what the problem was, but each time the irishman simply shook his head and only gave a grunt in response. He had even asked Robin too, whose only response was ‘we went to look for whales!’ - although Sebastian considered that strange considering that whale-sightings were extremely rare in the town.

Once everybody was assembled and out of the house, their first stop was to the supermarket to buy a disposable barbecue. Sebastian led the way, busying himself with the crumpled up shopping list which he had scribbled down earlier that morning. He was flanked by James and Robin; the five-year-old was dressed in his t-shirt and swimming trunks, an inflatable beach-ball tucked under his arm, whilst Jim skulked stubbornly beside him in his shirt and jeans. Robin was adamant that he wanted to sit in the shopping trolley, so after a small argument Sebastian had finally given in and lifted him inside, and the small boy was given the task of picking out the food on the shelves for their lunch.

Sebastian and Jim still weren’t exactly on speaking terms, apart from the odd occasion where they’d share a cigarette in the kitchen and complain about their day. Sebastian still had his doubts about the irishman’s return, whilst Jim seemed more distant and reserved than ever. They didn’t talk about Jim’s bipolar disorder, or his collapsed mental state, but judging by the sudden lack of medication Sebastian assumed that either during his time away Jim had completely healed, or that it was still a touchy subject.

They arrived at the beach shortly after noon, only to discover that everybody else had already set up and reserved their spaces. In the end Sebastian was able to find a secluded spot by the edge of the bay, laying their towels down before slipping off his own t-shirt, leaving him only in his shorts. The collection of striped scars on his chest was larger than Jim remembered, further giving the illusion that Sebastian looked just like a tiger. All of the scars were healed, even if some looked nicer than others. And along with Sebastian’s new-found scars he also had a dog-tag around his neck, confirming Jim’s suspicions that his time fighting in the army was to blame.

“Suncream, Robin.”

“But-“

“No buts. Come on Jim, tell him.”

Jim was perched on the side of one of towels, still refusing to change out of his shirt and jeans as he magazine a book in his hands. It was nothing special, just an odd tabloid that Jim had picked up whilst they were still in the supermarket. The purchase was met with skepticism, mainly from Sebastian who advised Jim against reading it, but Jim only ignored him. The front of the tabloid displayed a photo of Sherlock Holmes, no doubt hastily-snapped whilst he was getting into a cab or leaving his home. It was the only reason why Jim had picked up the magazine in the first place.

Reluctantly he lowered the tabloid in his hands, looking up towards the defiant five-year-old and shooting him a disapproving frown.

“Statistically pale-skinned children are more at risk of getting sunburnt,” he informed the child bluntly, and when Robin only looked more confused he continued:

“It means your father is right. Put some suncream on.”

Despite further protests, Sebastian was finally able to wrestle Robin’s t-shirt off of him and apply a suitable amount of suncream. The five-year old was eager to play in the water, but Sebastian insisted that he wait a few minutes until his suncream was properly rubbed in. Eventually the blond couldn’t hold him back any longer, and the young boy raced through the maze of other beach-goers towards the ocean. He landed with a definite splash, sitting in the shallow end whilst waving around his bucket and spade.

Sebastian observed him closely for a few minutes, and once he was satisfied he turned his attention towards the barbecue grill instead.

“James can you pass me my lighter?” The blond asked through gritted teeth, frowning as he attempted to assemble the make-shift grill.

Jim did so obediently, plucking the lighter from Sebastian’s trouser pocket and passing it to him, before resuming to his tabloid.

Sebastian eventually managed to ignite a spark, and soon enough a low sizzling erupted from the grill. He reached forward and grabbed the rucksack full of food, sorting through it carefully.

“What do you think Robin would prefer first? Hot dogs or burgers?”

“Hm?”

Jim looked up again, this time to see Sebastian holding up two different packets of food. He shrugged dismissively, gesturing towards the packet of burgers only because they were the closest to him. Sebastian nodded and swiftly set to work, and soon enough the sizzling was accompanied by a light stream of smoke.

“Jim?” He questioned suddenly, prodding the burgers around the grill with his fork so that he didn’t have to make-eye contact with the other man. “Can I ask you something?”

The irishman scoffed.

“If it’s another dull question about hot dogs and burgers then I’m not interested-“

“It’s about your bipolar.”

At once the mood of the conversation completely changed, becoming suddenly sombre and serious. The tabloid that Jim had been reading was firmly placed upon the ground, and the shorter man hastily cleared his throat.

“What bipolar?” He demanded, his voice now prickling with irritability.

The smoke from the barbecue had now risen sufficiently - it was noticeably darker now, carrying with it the smell of burning meat. Even at the question Sebastian still didn’t dare to face Jim, he simply resumed with what he was doing, and cleared his throat in an attempt to clear the air.

“I know about the letter Jim, I saw it in the drawer,” Sebastian confronted him.

Jim sniffed scornfully, his displeasure interrupted by the laughter and squeals of a gaggle of children running past, all of whom were clutching to inflatable rings and animals. They were heading to the ocean, no doubt to join the swam of other children already occupied in the water.

“That was years ago,” the irishman stated simply, picking up the magazine and toying sulkily with the front-cover. “Besides those diagnoses are rubbish, doctors just enjoy sticking a label on things.”

The blond raised a skeptical eyebrow, but refrained from speaking at first. He casted his gaze momentarily towards the sea; by the look of it Robin was growing bored with his bucket of spade, and they only had a limited time to finish their conversation.

“You were supposed to take medication,” he prompted earnestly, only for Jim to laugh.

It was humourless.

“I did take them. More than enough considering how many times I overdosed.”

“Jim-“

“You promised me a day at the beach, not an afternoon of being interrogated,” Jim snapped bitterly, turning on his side so that he could continue with the next page of his magazine.

“…And just so you know, you’ve burnt the food.”

The five-year old wasn’t so happy to learn about the burnt food upon returning from the ocean, but Sebastian promised that if he dowsed enough tomato ketchup onto his burger then it would be enough to mask the taste. He handed out three paper plates, one for himself, one for Robin, and another for Jim who still wasn’t speaking. He merely huffed at the sight of the paper plate being placed before him, and vigorously flipped over his page as a way of conveying his disapproval.

The burger resembled that of chargrilled clay, and tasted just the same. Robin however seemed to have no troubles, and was happily munching on his food whilst rambling to the blond about his adventures at sea. A blob of ketchup smeared his chin and Sebastian swiftly leant forward so that he could wipe it away with a crumpled napkin. The boy giggled and squirmed around uncomfortably, before politely placing down his plate once he was finished.

“Will you come build a sandcastle with me now?” Robin asked determinedly, a hopeful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Sebastian eventually gave up with his burger, wrapping the remains inside a paper napkin before placing it inside the rucksack, and doing the same with Jim’s food, which the irishman hadn’t even touched.

“Are you sure you don’t want any more food?” The blond asked in surprise.

The five-year-old turned his attention towards the grill, which was now charred and covered in ash, before scrunching up his nose and quickly shaking his head. Sebastian couldn’t blame the kid.

“Alright. You go collect some water in your bucket and I’ll be over soon,” he instructed gently. “I just need to talk to Uncle Jim first.”

Blissfully unaware of the tension circulating the air, Robin nodded obediently and rose to his feet. He brushed the last remains of sand from his legs, before scooping up his bucket and spade and racing eagerly back down to the shore to make a start on his sandcastle.

Jim only looked up from the magazine once he was completely sure that Robin was gone, and when he felt Sebastian’s strict gaze on the back of his neck, causing his skin to prickle. As expected, the blond was watching him like a hawk, the corner of his lip twitching as though he wanted to continue on from their previous conversation. Which he swiftly did.

“Why did you come back Jim? Why now?”

The irishman dumped the tabloid down onto the towel, realising that the chance of him being allowed to finish it was extremely thin. It wasn’t as though he was missing out on much, the article about Holmes hadn’t been anything special; it was another case, but one that hadn’t been of any interest to Jim, it was simply another chance for the tabloid to publish another stupid photo of Sherlock Holmes’ deerstalker. Watson had been there too, smiling away at the camera like some precious lapdog. The image alone was enough to make Jim’s blood boil.

“I can’t tell you that,” The irishman explained curtly, tapping the edge of his nose.

He eased himself up in a sitting position, observing Sebastian’s skeptical expression before continuing:

“A true gentleman never reals his secrets. I told you that on the second day we met.”

“If it’s support you need then I can help you,” Sebastian interjected, still hot-faced and pleading. “I can get you in contact with my psychiatrist, just tell me what to do.”

But Jim just threw his head back and laughed.

“And stay here on sheep island? I think I’ll pass.”

Jim’s laugh wasn’t how Sebastian recalled it to be. His laugh was no longer as boisterous or as arrogant as it had once been, nor did his pitch bounce between high and low like it used to. His laugh was primarily low now, and it was hard to tell how genuine it was.

“I’m being serious, James.”

“You see that’s your problem,” Jim explained with a strained smile, getting to his feet. “You’re _always_ serious. Where’s the adventure anymore? What happened to getting drunk in the bath and singing until our throats went hoarse?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“You died James. That’s what happened.”

Robin was shouting now from the shoreline, his bucket raised proudly in his hands so that he could show off his collection, the seawater sloshing around inside. The shouting came as an immediate relief to Sebastian, who took the opportunity to get to his feet and brush down the sand on his thighs and shorts. The five-year-old was still waving, and the blond gave a small wave back to reassure the boy that he was coming, until he noticed Jim staring at him.

“What?” He snapped dryly.

Jim said nothing, he merely gestured towards the scars littering Sebastian’s torso.

“If you’re going to ask me about my mental health then I get to ask you about your scars.”

The statement took Sebastian back, and all of a sudden he felt himself becoming a lot more self-conscious. Instinctively he folded his arms to try and shield the marks on his chest, but it was too late, Jim had already seen them. The very mention of the scars made Sebastian’s face hot with humiliation, and despite years of learning to try and ignore them he found himself feeling smaller than ever. Over time he had learnt not to care about what other people thought, especially not those close to him. But with Jim it was different.

“You know about how I got the marks, James,” Sebastian protested half-heartedly. “I already told you, my father-“

“I’m talking about the new scars.”

Jim got to his feet, pulling away Sebastian’s arms from his chest so that he could indicate towards the ones he meant.

“When we first met you had three. And now you have eight… As well as that horrible tattoo.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly, a small frown creasing his brow. Robin was still shouting feistily in the background however his words were muffled and incoherent. The blond took a firm hold of Jim’s hand, prizing it away from his chest, however he didn’t let go.

“They got me,” he croaked simply, his eyes meeting Jim’s momentarily. “Back in the army. A couple of Talibans…They held me prisoner after capturing me during one of my patrols. It’s not rocket science.”

“You never told me that.”

Sebastian let go of Jim’s hand, allowing it to drop down to his side as he stepped away.  
  
“I didn’t need to,” Sebastian explained simply, pulling away from the shorter man as he trudged down to the shoreline to greet his son, who had grown more than impatient from having to wait around.

The blond didn’t look back as he walked, not that he wanted to; instead he simply crouched down next to Robin, forcing a strained smile towards the boy as he helped him dig up some sand for his sandcastle.

Like Sebastian had promised, the end of their afternoon consisted of two small tubs of ice-cream from the village gift shop. Their towels had been long-since packed away whilst the disposable barbecue had been dumped in the waste-bin, and the long day’s adventure had left all three boys tired, sweaty, and rather eager to get home.

They sat on the picnic bench whilst they ate, the same bench on which Sebastian had been sitting when Jim made his grand return. Robin sat closely to his father, using a small wooden spoon to dig into his tub of strawberry ice-cream, which had melted significantly in the heat. Sebastian had opted against getting one for himself, and despite Jim buying his own scoop of ice-cream alike Robin, suddenly he found it rather unappetising. The pot of ice-cream sat on the middle of the table, untouched and dribbling at the sides.

The conversation from earlier hadn’t been forgotten, leaving both men stony-faced and frowning. Sebastian was only grateful that Robin hadn’t picked up on the tense atmosphere surrounding the table - only because he was half-asleep and busy attempting to stab at the remains of ice-cream with his spoon before it melted into slush. Jim watched the young boy’s attempt through hazy eyes, unable to help the exhausted smile that pricked at the corner of his lips.

“I want to go home,” the young boy decided sulkily upon giving up with his ice-cream.

There was a firm pout strewn across his lips, one that Sebastian recognised too well.

“Come on, little soldier, let me carry you back the car.”

Carefully, Sebastian lifted Robin up into his arms, watching as he nestled against his torso and made himself comfortable. Sebastian could feel something wet against his chest, and quickly realised that it was a dribble ice cream still smeared around Robin’s lips. But the boy was already on the verge of falling asleep, so he’d have to wait until they were home before attempting to clean up the mess.

Sebastian began the venture back to the car, Robin’s head flopped against his shoulder as he did so, and Jim took it as his silent cue to follow. After dumping his uneaten ice-cream in the bin he slowly caught up with Sebastian, staring out in-front of him to avoid any unwanted eye-contact. Sebastian followed suit and did the same.

The car-park wasn’t too far away, just up a small flight of steps overlooking the beach below. Jim was left in charge of placing their towels and bags into the boot whilst Sebastian took on the challenge of strapping Robin into his car seat, and despite his irritation he did so without a fuss. The irishman dumped their bags and wet towels into the back of the car, a little more vigorously than he probably should have, before slamming the door and taking his place in the passenger seat. Sebastian came to join him not long after, the five-year-old now fast asleep in the backseat.

They were all packed and ready to go, but even after a minutes wait Sebastian had no intention of starting the engine.

Jim was growing increasingly wary of the man beside him, half-expecting him to suffer a psychotic break. But the hysteria never came.

In-fact Jim would have much preferred a psychotic break compared to the tears which followed.

Sebastian Moran was crying; fat, ugly tears which rolled down his cheeks and stained them a horrible red colour. At first Jim was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to realise, until a strained, animal-like howl from beside him caught him off guard. The noise wasn’t enough to wake the five-year-old, who was still sleeping happily in the backseat, however it was enough to cause Jim’s head to snap round in surprise.

The irishman blinked, a firm scowl spreading across his face.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demanded furiously, but the tears continued regardless.

He would have shaken him by the shoulders, or barked in his face for him to stop crying, but Jim was more concerned by the reason of Moran’s weeping than of the tears themselves. Even to this day watching Sebastian cry was a rare occasion, and usually only entailed after a tragedy or something major. Like the time when Kirk, Sebastian’s dog, had died.

Sometimes Jim wondered whether or not Sebastian had shown the same level of mourning towards his own death, but typically that wasn’t a good question to ask somebody. Especially when you hadn’t seen them in five years. So in the end he was only left to imagine; he liked to imagine Sebastian’s reaction to the news, but judging by his new prescription fo antidepressants he hadn’t taken it well.

“I saw them again, Jim,” Sebastian croaked finally, lifting his tear-stained face to properly address Jim.

Jim sat rigidly on the passenger side, and it was only a few moments later that it dawned on him.

“The two girls?”

Sebastian merely nodded.

“At the doctors… They were showing it on the television, the war again.”

After checking that Robin was still safely asleep, ever so slowly Jim reached forward, and placed a hand against Sebastian’s arm. The blond flinched away at first, until finally giving in and allowing Jim to hold him. Jim did so until the crying stopped, one hand rested gently on Sebastian’s forearm with the other intertwining his hand. The touch was soft, and cautious as not to frighten the blond away.

“I can’t lose anybody else,” Sebastian murmured once the crying had finally drawn to a halt, using his arm to wipe away any stray tears that may be lingering.

He sniffed, catching sight of the five-year-old fast asleep in the backseat.

“…And I know I’m going to have to say goodbye to Robin after these two weeks are up. I doubt I’ll even get to see him anymore, not with Tony around.”

“Tony?”

“Annie’s new boyfriend,” Sebastian muttered jealously, slouching back against his seat as he fiddled around with the empty cigarette packet in his lap. He tore up the cardboard cover, dropping the tiny pieces onto the floor of the car and pushing them around with the tip of his shoe.

“Greek bloke - she’s all over him. Apparently he takes Robin out to play football and go to the park. He’s practically his new step-dad… Not that I was consulted first.”

Jim fell silent, a surprised frown creasing his brow. Naturally before his return he’d researched the family, checked up on Sebastian and Annie - from where they were living to who they were associated with. The break-up hadn’t been surprising, only because it had been brewing for so long, however the talk of this new ’Tony’ was certainly intriguing. Jim couldn’t recall seeing the name at all, and without-thinking the irishman offered Sebastian a thoughtful smile.

“And you say they’re on a cruise?”

“Two weeks in the sunny Mediterranean,” The blond agreed. “They get back at the end of next week.”

Jim nodded, mulling over the words in his head. That gave Sebastian and Robin seven more days together, and that certainly didn’t bode well with Jim at all.

“The Mediterranean…” Jim hummed quietly, pulling away from Sebastian as he sat back down. “Some would kill for that.”

He patted the side of the car, still with the same smile curled across his lips.  
  
“Let’s go home, I think our beach trip is over.”


	28. Children's Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old feelings are rekindled, and Jim develops a plan.

After searching through countless tourism websites, it hadn’t been hard to find the cruise-ship that Sebastian was talking about.

’ _The adventure of a lifetime_ ’ the website read. ‘ _A chance to explore the wonders of France, Spain, Italy, and Greece, all while travelling onboard our five-star cruise ship.’_ Jim was sat in the living room as he read through the list of information, draped in his dressing gown with the bright glare from Sebastian’s laptop serving as his only source of light. The laptop was balanced precariously on his lap, and had been for the past hour or so. Sebastian was preoccupied with getting Robin ready for bed, and Jim could hear the occasional shout or squeal from the bathroom upstairs as the blond attempted to bathe the stubborn five-year-old.

By around eight-o-clock the shouting from upstairs ceased, and Jim listened mindlessly to Sebastian’s retelling of ’The Jungle Book’ whilst he typed away on his laptop. The bedtime story served as the perfect opportunity for Jim to do some extra digging, and as he scrolled down the website page he came across a list of the cruise activities.

According to the list, the final day would be spent at Corfu, a chance for any passengers to either get onboard or get off, before they would resume their route back to England. It meant that any stranger could potentially get on, just as long as they had some form of identification. Jim stared at the screen, the light hurting his eyes, until suddenly he was interrupted.

“You’re not looking at anything inappropriate, are you?”

The unexpected voice from behind caused Jim to slam down the lid of the laptop, spinning around to see Sebastian stood in the doorway. There was a lazy smile playing on the man’s lips, and slowly he approached Jim before taking a seat next to him.

“How come you’ve got my laptop?” The blond asked curiously, eyeing Jim from the end of the sofa before reaching forward and picking up the bottle of whiskey from the table.

There were only a few droplets left, the rest had been devoured by Jim earlier than evening. Sebastian toyed with it momentarily and decided to pour himself a drink. He hovered the glass just below his lips, before downing the contents immediately.

“I was just checking up on Sherlock,” Jim lied with ease, watching as Sebastian placed down the now-empty glass.

“Anything interesting?”

“Just the stupid deerstalker again.”

The blond chuckled, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly as he relaxed his weight back against the sofa. His hand instinctively travelled across the sofa and brushed against Jim’s open palm. If Jim had been sober then he would have pushed it away, instead he allowed Sebastian’s hand to intertwine with his own, holding it there. Maybe it was just the drink mixed in with his lack of sleep playing with his emotions, or at least he hoped it was.

“I heard you reading The Jungle Book earlier,” Jim drawled out of the blue, keen to steer the conversation away from his mysterious doings on the laptop. “Rudyard Kipling?”

Sebastian smiled.

“The very fellow,” he agreed, far more interested in staring at their intertwined hands.

It was a strange sight to see, especially considering half of the world still considered Jim Moriarty to be long-dead. Sebastian had questions, so many questions that they were eating him up inside, but since Jim’s return he had been too scared to voice them. Too scared that if he let down his guard then Jim would simply disappear again.

The blond used his free hand to reach for the second bottle of whiskey hiding under the coffee table, saved specifically for emergencies, and prized open the lid before helping himself to a glass. He downed it without hesitation, feeling as the golden liquid burnt the back of his throat and tickled his tongue. He emitted a low groan once the shot was complete, placing down the glass with a satisfactory thud as the newfound dutch-courage swarmed his head. He was going to ask Jim a question, a proper question that he had been itching to ask ever since Jim’s appearance during that fateful trip to the beach.

“When you died…” Sebastian began cautiously. “Where did you go?”

As Sebastian leant against the back of the sofa once more, Jim took the opportunity to crawl forward and rest his head against the man’s lap. Sebastian hummed pleasantly at the feeling, at once outstretching his hand to thread through the man’s dark hair. The irishman smiled at the touch, but that didn’t stop him from pulling a face at the question.

“But I’m not dead.”

The blond grimaced.

“When you _faked_ your death,” he corrected himself apologetically, his breath now carrying the all-too familiar scent of alcohol.

Jim contemplated the question, the alcohol from earlier making his thoughts sluggish and slightly less coherent. Sebastian didn’t seem to mind waiting, not whilst he was still playing with the man’s dark hair. The gel that Jim usually wore had been washed out, leaving his hair light and fluffy, and perfect for petting.

“I went to the land of the tigers,” Jim explained finally, hoping that the words would catch Sebastian’s attention.

Which they did.

“India?”

“Only for a bit,” The irishman added. “The weather was too hot, I couldn’t stand the heat.”

He smiled fondly at the memory.

“But I met some locals who provided me with food and shelter… no tigers though.”

Sebastian’s hand came to rest in Jim’s hair, and he chuckled tiredly. It was hard to imagine Jim roaming the jungles of India, searching for tigers, but the thought alone was amusing enough; Jim dressed in a cork bushman’s hat and khaki shorts, using a sword to swipe through the dense leaves and vines of the forest. No doubt any tigress would bow down before him, even the largest and most ferocious of beasts.

“How come you’ve always been so fascinated with India?” Sebastian asked curiously, pulling his hand away from Jim’s hair so that he could help himself to the remainder of the whiskey.

His mind travelled back to the painting of the Taj Mahal in Jim’s old office, displayed proudly on the wall. He wondered if it was still there, if any of the office was still standing.

“It reminds me of you,” Jim dismissed casually, watching as Sebastian downed a large amount of whiskey.

He polished the majority off in one go, before Jim snatched the glass from his hand and decided to drink the rest himself. Sebastian didn’t complain, the alcohol was settling in and making his head fuzzy and warm. Jim’s cheeks appeared flushed, and his smile was tired, but upon pressing the back of his hand up against his own cheek, Sebastian realised he was exactly the same.

They ought to stop. But the bottle was inviting them to continue.

“So where else did you go?” Sebastian asked promptly, pulling himself up into a standing position and earning a whine from Jim, who had been resting against him. “I mean you didn’t stay in India.”

The blond topped up his glass, before retrieving another for Jim so they could finish off the bottle together. The irishman gladly took it, resting the rim of the glass against his lips before taking a few careful sips. Sebastian was less graceful, and downed the liquid within a few seconds, before turning his focus back to Jim.

But Jim only chuckled.

“I can’t tell you that,” he chided the man playfully, taking another sip of whiskey before resting his glass on the tabletop. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.”

The stack of cassette tapes were still piled high in the corner of the room, despite Sebastian’s frequent promises that he would throw them out. He had planned to get rid of them the night after Jim’s arrival, yet he had never gotten round to it, sentiment always seemed to get in the way. Every time Sebastian placed a hand upon the tapes he was reminded of his first time listening to them, broken and grieving whilst the music tortured his conscience.

The cassette tape on the top of the pile wasn’t as dusty as the others, only because it was the last one that Sebastian had received amidst the long series of gifts. He remembered receiving it clearly, during what the blond could only describe as one of the worst weeks of his life, and alike all of the other tapes he had received - this one was just as mocking and humiliating.

‘I Will Survive’ by Gloria Gaynor.

Jim could see Sebastian staring at the pile of tapes, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He slowly rose to his feet, his movements a little unsteady from the alcohol consumption, before coming to join Sebastian in observing the cassettes.

“I will survive,” he declared triumphantly.

“If I remember correctly you didn’t take that one too well.”

“I punched the wall,” Sebastian swallowed thickly in agreement.

A brief scoff escaped Jim’s mouth, and he licked his lips at the memory.

“Shall we give it a play?” Jim suggested thoughtfully, prizing the tape from the top of the pile.

He brushed any lingering dust from the front, catching a glimpse of Sebastian’s disapproving expression beside him.

“For old time’s sake?”

They were both heavily tipsy, bordering on drunk, so even despite his skepticism Sebastian couldn’t resist agreeing to the idea. He watched through hazy eyes as the cassette player swallowed the tape whole, before suddenly it lip up and began to play. The machine was old and dusty, and at first it whirred and crackled until eventually the first few notes of the song trickled into the air. The living room door was closed to prevent the noise from reaching Robin upstairs, who was safely tucked up in bed, so there was no concern over the five-year-old sneaking downstairs and catching them both.

And even as the first few lyrics blasted out of the speaker, there was no sign of movement from the upstairs bedroom.

_“…Oh no, not I, I will survive_

_Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive_

_I've got all my life to live_

_And I've got all my love to give and I'll survive…”_

It was Sebastian who first took hold of Jim’s hand, brushing his thumb lazily against his silky skin as he pulled him in close. Jim leant in against his touch, admiring the bristles of the man’s beard as they scratched against his cheek. It wasn’t a waltz, but at the same time it wasn’t a particularly quick dance for such an upbeat song.

Sebastian and James swayed against each-other as the music filled the air, tottering around the room without a care in the world. Sebastian spun the irishman around, and Jim could only laugh as he stumbled aimlessly around the carpet, almost crashing into the coffee table and spilling the empty glasses everywhere as he went. The thoughts of the beach were long-gong from their minds now, as were Sebastian’s fears about his losing son. The thought of the cruise however was still on Jim’s mind, but with the intake of alcohol his thoughts had subsequently become muddled and clouded, and it was hard to draw up a proper plan of attack.

He’d have to wait until the morning when he’d sobered up.

The dancing stopped when the cassette drew to a close, leaving both the blond and his counterpart red-faced and exhausted. Jim collapsed against Sebastian’s chest without a single word, his breathing heavy and drawn-out as he attempted to catch his breath. Sebastian’s arms instinctively snaked around his waist, holding the smaller man protectively just like the old days.

“You stink of whiskey,” Jim, whose voice was muffled by Sebastian’s t-shirt, mumbled aloud, his words still accompanied by a slight breathlessness.

Sebastian only smiled, pulling away from the irishman so that he could gently cup his jaw and gain his attention. Jim looked half-asleep, but he was staring at him nevertheless. Staring with wide eyes full of delight.

“So do you,” the blond retorted, hesitating before pressing the first gentle kiss to Jim’s lips.

They tasted of alcohol mixed in with what Sebastian assumed to be nicotine. It was a strange taste, but after having gone so long without it Sebastian considered it to be more than enough. Jim’s lips were soft and plump, and even as he pulled away Sebastian could feel himself itching for more.

“Shall we take a bath?”

The bathroom was on the second-floor; a small, cramped room with a tiny bathtub and shelves littered with toys and different types of bubble bath. Sebastian kicked past a stray rubber duck as he entered, dragging Jim along with him who was stumbling behind. The blond fiddled around with the bath taps, whilst the irishman perched on the toilet seat and watched with fascination. Since the arrival of both Robin and Jim, the room itself had become cluttered with mess and dirt. It took Sebastian a few minutes to fish around for the right bubble bath mixture on the top shelf, dipping his hand into the water every so often to check the temperature.

Once the tub was full and he was satisfied, the taller of the two closed the door behind them before carefully beginning to undress. He came to a pause with his fingers hooked around his boxers, aware that Jim’s eyes were fixated upon him still, and after convincing Jim to look away he finally gained the courage to slip off his underwear and climb into the warm bubble bath.

Jim on the other hand as less concerned about his appearance, and whipped off his trousers and underwear without a moment of hesitation. He was quick to follow Sebastian’s example, getting into the tub as he perched awkwardly opposite from him. The tub was a lot smaller this time around, causing the taps to dig into Jim’s back slightly and cause him to wince. The bubble mixture however was a nice addition, and tickled Jim’s skin as he leant forward to press another kiss to the man’s lips.

“We’re safe here, aren’t we?” Sebastian asked distractedly.

He broke away from Jim’s kiss, causing the dark-haired man to pout immediately and sink under the water. Only his head was visible now, the rest of his body completely engulfed by a mass of soap-filled bubbles.

“Are you talking about Puck?” He asked.

“ _Robin_.”

Jim held his hands up apologetically, grinning tiredly as he sat back up again. His own body looked frailer than it had done during their last encounter together, which was a shock considering how small Jim had been even before faking his death. His skin was significantly paler, sickly even, to the point where Sebastian was surprised he wasn’t merely a mangled corpse.

To accompany his pale pigmentation there were a new array of scars, some healed whilst others appeared fresh. The sight caused Sebastian’s stomach to knot as his throat went dry, and it took all of his might not to interrogate Jim as to how they got their in the first place. He also wondered whether they were self-inflicted or not, but Sebastian had a suspicion that he didn’t want to know the answer to that one.

“I told him about you… but I never told him about _us_ ,” Sebastian explained curtly once he had distracted himself from Jim’s newfound battle wounds. “The last thing I need is for him to start asking questions about why daddy and Uncle Jim are sharing a bath together.”

Jim rolled his eyes irritably, using the back of his hand to send a wave of water towards Sebastian, splashing him at once against his torso. He lounged back against the bath, his hand brushing aimlessly against a clump of bubbles.

“You get too worked up,” the irishman stated simply.

He eventually grew bored of messing around, crushing the pile of bubbles with his hand as they fizzed out and swiftly disappeared.

“The door’s locked and bolted, which means there’s no chance of Robin accidentally stumbling in. Besides, he’s probably fast asleep right now dreaming about Mowgli and Baloo.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow of surprise at the revelation, a faint chuckle escaping his lips.

“You’ve read the Jungle Book?”

“Back when I was a boy.”

Sebastian broke into a series of laughs, slouching back against the side of the bathtub whilst Jim watched on in dismay.  
  
“Whats so funny!?” The irishman shrieked demandingly, but his protests were cut off by the abrupt kiss to his lips.

He looked up to find Sebastian leant in-front of him, his hair jostled and his face warm with the same tired expression sprawled across his features. He attempted to open his mouth to speak again, until yet another kiss was placed upon his lips. A much longer kiss this time.

“You’re going to be a good uncle, I can already tell,” Sebastian whispered simply, offering Jim a knowing nod. “Robin’s going to love you.”

Jim merely pulled a face, not convinced by the blond’s words of reassurance.

“And what if he doesn’t?” He retorted bitterly.

Sebastian shook his head.

“Robin will love you, because _I_ love you.”

The bath-water had started to grow cold, a sign that they had overstayed their welcome.

Sebastian and Jim said their hushed goodnights to each other at the top of the staircase as not to wake Robin, sharing a final fleeting kiss and hug before Jim returned to resume his usual spot on the sofa. His lips were tingling now, as was the rest of his face which felt hot and overwhelmed. He would have liked to blame his sudden hotness on the bath he had just taken, but he was more than aware that the series of kissing had played its part too.

The light from the upstairs’ hallway turned off soon after, leaving the illumination of the streetlights outside as Jim’s only source of light. He listened carefully as Sebastian’s heavy footsteps thumped across the floorboards, before coming to a sharp halt as he seemingly reached his bed. Jim took this to mean that the blond would be asleep soon, allowing him to do some more snooping around on Sebastian’s laptop.

The irishman took his seat on the sofa, wrangling with the laptop on the floor as he lifted it onto his lap and opened up the lid. He was greeted by the same website from earlier as soon as the laptop screen turned on, the route of which the cruise was currently sailing on. By the looks of it they still had a week or so to go, leaving plenty of time for certain arrangements to be made.

Jim dragged his finger across the keypad, closing the current website tab before opening up his email instead. He scrolled through until he found the correct name, and with a smile of satisfaction he began to type away at the keyboard.

_[ Youssef, I have a job for you. JM ]_


	29. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two weeks are over, but there's a problem.

The two week adventure ended with one final trip to the beach.

It was Robin’s idea to bring the kite, even against Sebastian’s warning that it was too stormy for kite weather. The little thing was somehow still in tact, the string hadn’t snapped yet and despite the sail being torn slightly it flew perfectly, although Sebastian had a feeling that the rainy weather would be enough to tear the little kite to shreds.

He and Jim sat on the picnic bench whilst Robin played with the toy, the beach now practically deserted. They were dressed in a pair of raincoats; Sebastian in a red mac coat whilst Jim wore the same version just in blue, one of Sebastian’s old coats which was far too big for him. Jim was leaning his head against Sebastian’s shoulder, a hand lowered to rest on the edge of his raincoat, trailing against the droplets of rain that had settled.

“Why is he so fanatical about that kite?” He asked, brushing a thumb against the soaked fabric as the rain continued to drizzle.

Sebastian shrugged, fumbling around in his pocket before retrieving a packet of cigarettes.

“It’s just being a kid I suppose,” he mused aloud, lighting the cigarette before offering it to Jim courteously. “Didn’t you ever play with a kite when you were a child?”

Jim took it without question, pressing the cigarette to his lips as he took a long drag, the rain pattering down upon the raised hood of his coat. He eventually lowered it, deliberating somewhat before passing it back to Sebastian, who in turn took his own small drag.

“I had a kite once,” Jim replied eventually, staring out towards where Robin was playing, the little kite battling behind him in the harsh wind. “I let go of the string and it flew away. I never got it back after that.”

The blond chuckled at the explanation, until realising that Jim didn’t find it so humorous. He quickly fell silent, clearing his throat before offering the cigarette back towards Jim again, who politely declined.

Sebastian grunted apologetically, taking a final drag before deciding that he didn’t want the cigarette anymore, proceeding to stub it out before flicking it onto the damp stone below. He had decided that he needed to cut out the nicotine for good - especially if he wanted to see Robin grow up - so after numerous years he was going to try and quit smoking. Whether or not he would succeed was a different story.

“So what happens after this?” The blond asked finally, turning his attention away from cigarettes and towards Jim instead.

“Are you staying in Cornwall?.. And don’t call it sheep island again.”

The irishman’s gaze trailed after Robin, watching as he darted clumsily across the sand in a zig-zag formation. The five-year-old’s wellington boots were far too big for him, and were noticeably weighing him down whilst he attempted to catch up with the kite. The bitter wind had jostled his fair hair, yet despite the bad weather the boy was still in good spirits. The two week holiday together had been fun, even if the weather was terrible, and by next morning Robin would already be packed and ready to go back home.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Jim murmured quietly, ignoring Sebastian’s second remark.

He was far more interested in the little five-year-old, who had become tangled in the string of the kite and was flailing around aimlessly. An elderly passerby stopped to help him, and Sebastian waved a hand of gratitude towards her as she tottered off, leaving Robin to resume his kite chase.

“You know I love the big city, ‘Bas,” Jim added finally. “Cornwall isn’t for me.”

The blond pulled a face, and Jim apologised by planting a quick kiss to his lips. The kiss was accepted at once, and with a grin Sebastian leant in for more.

“But you’ll visit, obviously.”

Jim pulled away from the kiss, going oddly silent. He didn’t answer at first, the smile fading as his expression became sombre.

“ _Obviously_.”

The evening passed with a game of chess, and a plentiful order of pepperoni pizza for them all to share. The storm outside showed no signs of slowing, and as they sat gathered around the cramped table in their pyjamas, Jim was the first to identify the low rumbles of thunder brewing in the distance.

“You see, Uncle Jim has a knack for chess,” The irishman declared playfully, dressed in his own vest and pair of boxer shorts, a cup of tea cupped carefully in his left hand.

“I’ve even beaten the Queen at it.”

“The Queen?!” Robin demanded, unconvinced by Jim’s tall tales.

“He’s being stupid, Robbie. He hasn’t actually met the Queen,” Sebastian reassured the boy, swatting Jim against the arm and causing him to yelp.

“… _Or_ beaten her at a game of chess.”

The blond grabbed for a slice of pizza on the side, taking a large bite from it to the shorter man’s disgust. Out of the three of them he had eaten the most pizza, compared to Jim who had barely touched a single morsel. It was _‘too greasy_ ’, as he had called it, but had been more than happy to help himself to a sugar-filled cup of tea instead.

“No, but I have worn her crown,” Jim pointed out, leaning forward and moving his bishop, taking Sebastian’s knight.

He snatched the piece with a triumphant grin, causing Sebastian to scowl from across the table.

“What was it like?” The five-year-old continued in awe, blissfully distracted from the game in-front of him.

“It was the perfect fit.”

Whilst Robin was too busy fantasising over the thought of the Crown Jewels, Jim took it as the opportunity to move his chess piece forward, placing it right in-front of Sebastian’s king, which in turn had nowhere to go.  
  
“Checkmate,” he chimed in a sing-song voice.

Sebastian’s defeat was met with disappointed groans from both Sebastian and the five-year-old, who had been working together as a team. Jim’s prize for winning was the final slice of pepperoni pizza, which he gladly snatched up whilst the blond cleared away the board. He still wasn’t a fan of the stuff, but currently it tasted of victory so with that he took a triumphant bite.

Their game had taken longer than expected, meaning that the last remaining pizza slice was now stone cold. Jim took a bite, picking off the pepperoni slices and feeding them to the dog who was waiting expectantly under the table.

“What did I say? I’m a pro at chess,” he yawned, taking another bite or so before placing the rest back into the empty box.

The irishman could already see the dog’s tail thumping energetically against the side of the table - no doubt as soon as they left it would snatch up the remainder of the pizza for itself. Sebastian must have noticed, as he carefully picked up the remains of the food and tossed it into the bin, shooting the dog a disapproving glare as he did so.

“Good job, Jim,” he admitted finally, pressing a prolonged kiss to the shorter man’s cheek before sitting himself back down again.

The dreaded thunderstorm had already dispersed, much to Sebastian’s relief. Now instead of thunder they were accompanied by the persistent sound of rainfall, which throughout the hours had only worsened. It hammered against the windows and walls, sending a cold chill throughout the flat. Robin shivered, and the blond instinctively lifted him up onto his lap so that he could warm him.

The five-year-old’s eyes were tired and fuzzy, and every so often his head would lull to the side in a battle to keep himself from falling asleep.

“It’s way past your bedtime, little soldier,” Sebastian whispered, observing the state of his son as he lightly ruffled his hair. “Your mother will kill us both if she finds out what time you’ve been going to bed.”

The blond scooped the boy up against his chest, getting carefully to his feet before a sudden tug on the end of his vest stopped him. It was Jim.

“You promise you’ll come back down afterwards for a game of cards?” The irishman hissed adamantly.

Sebastian immediately snorted.

“Only if the winner gets a glass of wine.”

Jim said his goodnights to Robin, before spending double the amount of time saying goodbye to Sebastian. The two shared an excess of kisses, a few lingering hands slipping in and out of each-other’s clothing, until finally the blond forced himself to pull away and offered his final ‘goodnight’ before things got too carried away.

He could still hear Jim on his way upstairs, sorting through the pack of playing cards whilst helping himself to another not-so-discreet drink, until the noise finally fizzled out once they approached Robin’s bedroom. Sebastian quickly closed the door behind them, turning on the bedside lamp as he lowered the five-year-old into bed. The walls were dancing with spots of warm light, and the cuddly toy tiger was already awaiting the young child under the covers. Robin climbed under the duvet, swiping the tiger under his arm whilst Sebastian proceeded to tuck him in.

“These last two weeks have been fun, kiddo,” the blond murmured softly, getting up once more so that he could retrieve a story from the bookcase.

In the end it was a toss-up between Winnie the Pooh and the Wind in The Willows, but Robin protested that they still hadn’t finished reading The Jungle Book from the previous night. Sebastian sighed, holding up his hands in surrender as he prized the book from the bedside table, before perching carefully on the side of the five-year-old’s bed.

“I’m going to miss you terrorising me around the flat.”

Robin ignored the older man, watching incessantly as he flicked through the pages of the book to find where they had last gotten to.

“Is Uncle Jim staying?” He questioned abruptly.

Sebastian’s hand came to a halt, his fingers brushing hesitantly against the page before suddenly he began to flick through the remaining chapters again. A strained smile settled across his lips.

“Ah here we are, Toomai of the Elephants-“

“Is Uncle Jim staying?”

Robin interrupted him again, this time causing Sebastian to slam shut the cover of the book.

The blond swallowed thickly, placing the book down on the bed beside him before turning to face his son. He gently brushed through his hair, admiring him thoughtfully.

“I wish I knew, little soldier,” he whispered softly, playing with the boy’s fair hair before brushing it out of his face so that it wasn’t in the way.

The five-year-old watched with confusion, a small frown creasing his brow, but he was too tired to dwell upon the older man’s answer. Soon enough his eyes were already closed, his head swimming with images of Mowgli and Sher Khan.

“…I like Uncle Jim,” Robin mumbled mindlessly, his fingers wrapped tightly around the tiger’s fur.

The wind and rain continued to lash down at the bedroom window, where a few of Robin’s drawings were pinned up, and the boy stifled a sleepy yawn. Sebastian watched him momentarily, smiling as he patted the boy lightly on the shoulder, before adjusting his covers to make sure that he was warm enough.

“Me too, kiddo,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Robin’s head before rising to his feet. “Now c’mon, we’ve got an early start tomorrow. Now remember what I told you?”

Robin emitted yet another yawn, nodding his head.

“Don’t tell mummy about Uncle Jim.”

The blond sighed in agreement.

“Good boy.”

Sebastian turned off the bedside-table lamp, plunging the bedroom straight into darkness. There was still a faint trail of light from the hallway, and after checking to make sure that the five-year-old was okay he reluctantly pulled away, and headed towards the door. The wind was still rattling against the poor windows, but Robin was already seemingly fast-asleep, so Sebastian wasn’t too concerned. After slotting The Jungle Book back into its usual place on the bookshelf he finally left the room, and closed the door gently behind him.

The next morning, Jim was rudely awoken by the sound of movement coming from the front-door. Still occupying the sofa, he opened his eyes to the clumsy figure of Sebastian, hunched over attempting to fit Robin’s suitcase through the front-door, along with the kite which was strapped to the back. The blond grunted and wheezed as he went, swearing occasionally when the strings and edges of the kite snagged on the door locks and became stuck. Jim turned to see the five-year-old observing his father, dressed in his raincoat and wellington boots with a half-eaten piece of toast hanging from his mouth.

Robin was attempting to suppress a giggle, much to Sebastian’s dismay.

“Is it time to leave already?” Jim teased playfully, hanging from the edge of the sofa as the blond continued to struggle and curse.

Sebastian eventually managed to squeeze both the kite and suitcase through the tight gap in the door, rounding on Jim with a frown of disapproval.

“With no thanks to you,” he muttered dryly, his hand still clutched tightly to the handle of the suitcase to prevent it from rolling away.

Jim raised an eyebrow.

“I was sleeping.”

“Well that isn’t my fault, I specifically told you to set an alarm for seven.”

“Why so early?”

“Because Annie gave me clear instructions to get Robin home by nine, and we’re already behind schedule,” Sebastian stated sternly, pinching his brow with his fingertips. “Now help me pack the suitcase into the car.”

Jim hurriedly grabbed for the dressing gown on the side, following after Sebastian as he ushered Robin down the flight of stairs towards the front entrance. There was a small gang of boys mingling by the entrance as they arrived, smoking and chatting amongst each-other on their bikes, however they quickly dispersed at the sight of Sebastian approaching. He had gotten himself a reputation amongst the little village since his arrival, mainly because of his ex-army status. Word had travelled quickly, and soon enough everybody was well aware of the ex-colonel, from the doctors to the dog-walkers that sometimes passed by the beach.

The car was already parked outside and ready to go. Sebastian prepared Robin’s carseat whilst Jim was in charge of lifting the suitcases into the boot. It wasn’t a laborious job and he did so obediently, making sure to be careful with the kite so that he didn’t ruin it, before slamming the boot door shut and coming to stand bedside Sebastian. The five-year-old had been successfully strapped into his carseat, and they were ready to set off.

“Goodbye, Robin,” Jim said calmly, outstretching his hand for the little boy to shake. “I hope to see you again soon.”

They shook hands, and Sebastian shot him a confused look.

“It’s for the best if I don’t come with you,” the irishman continued hastily, before Sebastian even had a chance to ask the question.

“I wouldn’t want to get in the way of things.”

Jim was right; if he was to magically turn up in-front of Annie and her new boyfriend then it would only cause more problems, and Sebastian wasn’t in the mood to explain to his ex-girlfriend why Jim Moriarty wasn’t dead. After a few final goodbyes to James, and a kiss from Sebastian, they set off down the road towards the cottage. Neither the five-year-old nor the forty-something year old spoke throughout the entire journey, and their time was passed by listening to another wet pop song on the radio. The singer was supposedly famous, not that Sebastian knew who she was, but he took it to mean that he was getting old. Her voice ‘ _sounded like a cement mixer_ ’ as the blond had poetically put it, and after a few tedious more minutes he gave in and changed over to the heavy-metal station.

The two weeks had been fun, even if Jim had come along halfway through and disturbed their plans. It hadn't been all bad though; they had shared some fun times together, even despite the numerous amount of arguing. He had resolved his relationship with Jim, even fixed tensions with his own son too. The whole ordeal had left Sebastian feeling warm and fuzzy, and he couldn't help but smile as he eventually cut the engine of the car.

They arrived at the cottage just after nine, and were met at once with a deserted wasteland.

The red car which usually sat parked in the garage was gone, and an abundance of unopened letters were still crammed in the letterbox. Feeling a wave of uncertainty, Sebastian turned off the engine of the car and rummaged around for his phone, eventually retrieving it so that he could dial for Annie. He tried four times in total, all of which went straight to voicemail.  
  
 _“Hi, this is Sebastian. I’ve arrived to drop off Robin but you don’t appear to be home yet… Call me back as soon as you can, thanks.”_

_“Hi, this is Sebastian again. I’ve called you four times but you still haven’t picked up… Is everything okay? Call me… Please.”_

After Sebastian’s fifth attempt to phone Annie failed, he finally gave in and shoved his phone back into his pocket, a little more aggressively this time. Robin had picked up on the tension surrounding the air, and was fidgeting uncomfortably in his car-seat, confused as to why they weren’t going inside the cottage and why his mother wasn’t outside to greet him like she usually was. Sebastian however was paying no attention to the boy, and had already climbed out of the car so that he could march up to the front steps of the house.

He prized the letters forcefully away from the letterbox, letting go with a loud crash as they spilled everywhere. Sebastian dropped down onto the floor, fumbling around each of the letters to check the dates on the back. The latest was from that very same morning, a reminder from the council that the electricity bills were still overdue and needed to be paid. The blond cursed, throwing the letters aside frustratedly before getting to his feet, and checking the door.

But it was locked.

He jostled the handle a few times, eventually giving in when his attempts proved to be useless. His heart was racing now, and a slight sickness had started to rise up in his stomach. It was fine, wasn’t it? Maybe there was just a simple problem with their luggage, or maybe the cruise hadn’t docked yet. Sebastian could feel his head swarming with thoughts, the majority of which revolved around Annie. It was extremely unlike her to miss a call, especially one involving her son. She was always so finicky about everything, from making sure that everything was tidy to always sending a text to Sebastian every morning to check up on how Robin was doing.

But Sebastian had been too distracted that morning to even check for a text, and upon opening his phone in the hopes that he might have simply missed it, instead he was greeted by a blank screen.

Maybe Tony, her new boyfriend, had done something. Maybe he had hurt her, or used the cruise as an excuse to take her somewhere far aware.

No - that was plain stupid.

Sebastian may not have liked Tony, but surely the man wouldn’t go as far as to actually kill Robin’s mother.

Sebastian traipsed back to the car, defeated and jittery, only to be greeted by a scornful-looking Robin. He was writhing furiously around in his car-seat, desperate to know about what was going on.

“Where’s mummy?!” He demanded shrilly.

The blond sat back down in the driver’s seat, and said nothing.

“Where’s mummy?!”

Nothing.

“I said where’s m-“

“I don’t fucking know where she is, Robin!” Sebastian bellowed suddenly, causing the five-year-old to immediately fall silent.

He sunk back against his seat, a low groan escaping his lips as he held his hands to his face. He didn’t care if the young boy was watching him anymore, or if he could sense his worry. Annie was missing, along with her arsehole boyfriend, and after regaining his senses Sebastian pulled his hands away from his face and turned on the car engine. He considered calling the police, or maybe even Jim, but there was no time for that. Instead of thinking rationally he slammed his foot down onto the pedal and reversed back out onto the road once more, skidding through the deserted village back to the flat. The road was rough against the speed of the tyres, causing the little car to jolt around ferociously, and Sebastian found himself increasing the speed of the vehicle well-over the legal speed limit.

Robin was making noises from the back, sharp cries to ‘stop’ by the sound of it, but Sebastian kept going. His chest felt hot, and his skin felt like it was practically on fire. Something was horribly wrong, he could just sense it. He needed to tell Jim. Jim always knew what to do.


	30. The Egyptian Giant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian finds out the truth about what happened.

“Well have you called the police?”

Sebastian was pacing now, pacing up and down relentlessly like a caged animal.

“And tell them what? That my child’s mother and her irritating boyfriend are missing, and that my ex-boyfriend has magically returned from the dead?”

Jim raised a stern eyebrow.

“ _Current_ boyfriend,” he reminded him. “I thought we agreed we were getting back together.”

Sebastian had been pacing for ten minutes now, up and down the same stretch of hallway while Jim overlooked from the bottom of the staircase. The colour had drained completely from the blond’s face, and he was left pale and jittery, unable to calm himself down from whatever thoughts were running through his mind. He had arrived home in a state of sheer panic just before noon, along with Robin whose eyes were full of distress and who hadn’t stopped crying since the car journey.

Robin had been sent straight up to his bedroom without an argument, leaving Jim and Sebastian downstairs to talk alone. But currently it seemed like Sebastian was far more interested in pacing than actually speaking.

“Darling, will you just calm down for a minute!?” Jim demanded eventually, his patience finally snapping as he grabbed Sebastian’s hand and pulled him to one side.

“I can’t calm down I have to-“

“Breathe, Sebastian.”

Reluctantly, Sebastian sunk down onto the step beside Jim, staring towards the front-door as though he was half-expecting Annie’s silhouette to appear any second now. But it didn’t. Jim’s voice was in his ear, gently hushing him as his fingers brushed through his sweaty, blond strands of hair, and finally he forced himself to calm down. His breathing slowed in time to Jim’s brushstrokes, and mindlessly he rested his head against the irishman’s shoulder for comfort. Jim smiled at once, and gently patted his cheek.

There was no noise from upstairs, meaning that Robin’s crying had seemingly stopped. Sebastian felt a little guilty for not being there to comfort him, or hold him whilst he wept, but Jim’s arms were tight around him and he found himself unable to pull away. The five-year-old was just as scared as he was, even if he didn’t quite understand the severity of the situation yet. The blond wanted nothing more than to reassure him that everything would be okay, like any good father was supposed to do, but he didn’t know if that was strictly true yet. And as the minutes passed Jim’s grip was still rock-solid, with no chance of escape.

There was still no sign of Annie, no text messages and no returned phone calls. Sebastian’s phone was on standby in case anything was to come through, but as of yet he had received nothing.

Jim’s hand came to a stop in his hair, and Sebastian looked up in confusion.  
  
“Why did you stop?” He asked tiresomely, resuming his previous position and closing his eyes again.

The shorter man didn’t answer at first. He tucked a few stray strands of hair behind the blond’s ear, eyeing him suspiciously. The suspicion eventually broke away, and Jim was left almost smiling, a smile that he had to grit his teeth to hide.

“They aren’t coming back, ‘Bastian.”

“Don’t say things like that, James,” Sebastian brushed off dismissively, feeling a tight knot in his stomach at the thought.

He couldn’t see Jim’s smile as he spoke, far too busy attempting to wipe away his own initial tears. They dribbled pathetically down his cheeks, and the salt of the teardrops left a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

“You don’t know if that’s true or not-“

“They’re dead, Sebastian.”

Sebastian didn’t register the words at first, not with the high-pitched ringing filling his ears. At once he felt himself becoming limp, his body crumpled whilst his jaw on the other hand became tight and rigid. The blond opened his mouth to speak, but every time he did no words came out and he was left feeling dazed and humiliated. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. His mouth was dry, whilst his whole throat felt like it had closed up and was suffocating him.

Annie was dead, her arsehole of a boyfriend, Tony, too.

No - it couldn’t be. It was impossible. They had been on a cruise just a few days ago enjoying themselves, they couldn’t be dead. Sebastian turned to Jim in hope of some solace, but Jim’s whole face was emotionless and unnerving. The blond blinked, then blinked again, but the tears only worsened and he emitted a mournful sob.

The irishman’s expression remained blunt, even as Sebastian started to wail. The only way to stop the man from crying had been to show him a photograph, a photograph that Jim hastily retrieved from the laptop.

He picked the laptop up from the under the table, tilting the screen so that Sebastian could view it clearly. Through the blond’s clouded vision he could make out a man; with black hair, tanned skin, and a thick scar dragged across his left eye. He was scowling in the photo, and Sebastian could’ve sworn that there were specs of blood on his knuckles.

“Youssef Ahmed, they call him the Egyptian Giant.”

“Youssef…” Sebastian repeated foggily, a deep frown creasing his brow. “…I- I recognise the name.”

“And so you should,” Jim agreed bluntly, closing the lid of the laptop and placing it to one side once he was satisfied.

“…You read my old hospital journal after all.”

“Youssef from the hospital? The one who bullied you?”

Sebastian blinked in perplexment, fearfully shaking his head.

“But he died, you said it yourself… you killed him, asthma attack or something.”

“Dreamers often lie.”

“Wha...?”

“Romeo and Juliet, act one scene four,” Jim stated with a roll of his eyes, placing a hand to Sebastian’s hair once more as he continued to brush through it. “I thought you were supposed to be good at Shakespeare.”

Sebastian didn’t attempt to resist, he just melted into the shorter man’s touch.

“Not now, James.”

“…He didn’t die. It was an induced coma, there’s a difference,” Jim explained curtly, reaching up his index finger and tapping the side of his head.

“Brain hypoxia, also known as lack of oxygen… In Youssef’s case it was caused by his asthma attack. But luckily for Youssef his hypoxia wasn’t severe, and all he was left with was a rather nasty case of memory loss.”

Sebastian could only sit there stunned, attempting to take all of the information in. But there was so much to get his head around, so much nonsense that the blond didn’t want to believe.

“He doesn’t remember you?” He croaked finally.

“Not in the slightest.”

“But what about him?” Sebastian persisted, it suddenly dawning on him what Jim was talking about.

“I don’t… I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Did he-“

“-Kill them? Yes, with my instructions.”

“Jim-“

Jim’s hand was still playing with his hair, it was oddly calm considering that he had just revealed that he had murdered Sebastian’s ex-girlfriend. His pale fingers twirled around the man’s blond locks, wrapping them around his finger before letting go and brushing them to one side. His gaze was fixed firmly on Sebastian’s set of hair instead of his eyes. However when he did look down towards Sebastian, he didn’t appear betrayed or hurt in the slightest. He looked numb.

“He’s a hitman, darling,” Jim continued vaguely, pulling away from Sebastian and getting to his feet, brushing the creases out of his shirt.

Sebastian remained slumped on the bottom of the staircase. His face was pale, lips parted ever so slightly in bewilderment.

“…I found him a few years ago, back in Romania during a pub quiz. I gave him my card, we’ve been in contact ever since. It’s a small world after all.”

“But Annie-“

“Yes well that was the easy part,” Jim continued nonchalantly, a smile spreading across his lips as though he was proud of himself. Which he certainly was.

“Youssef doesn’t tend to stick around for very long, he’s constantly moving from place to place. As it just so happened he was in Albania at the time.. after a generous sum of money I finally convinced him to take the job. He boarded the ship when it docked at Corfu, he was in the cabin two doors down from the happy couple. By the time the ship arrived back in England they were already dead.”

Sebastian slowly rose to his feet, his legs still trembling violently beneath him. He clutched to the side of the bannister to stop himself from falling, a gruff breath escaping his lips as he swayed on his spot. The blond’s hands were cold and clammy, whilst his grip on the bannister was tight and forceful.

Sensing that something was wrong, Jim instinctively took a step back from his perch.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asked.

A low snarl escaped the Sebastian’s lips, and without warning he thrust Jim back against the wall. The irishman landed with a dull thud, but unlike Sebastian he didn’t appear to be at all phased by what was happening. He stood in silence as the blond leant forward, his lips hovering dangerously close to Jim’s own lips before suddenly his hand slipped around the shorter man’s throat. It was only now that Jim was beginning to grow panicked, and it dawned on him that this wasn’t the reception he had hoped for. Sebastian was holding him, crushing his windpipe.

“For somebody so smart you can be incredibly stupid, James,” Sebastian spat bitterly, reluctantly letting go of the shorter man’s throat as he took a step back, realising that choking Jim wouldn’t solve any of his problems.

Jim was quick to move away from Sebastian as soon as he let go, picking up one of Robin’s books from the side in order to defend himself with. He wielded the book in the air, outstretching it so that he and Sebastian were a considerable distance apart. So Sebastian couldn’t pull anymore stupid stunts again.

“I don’t give a fuck about Youssef. I don’t give a fuck about who he is or how he did it… I want to know _why_. Why did he kill them?”

Cautiously, Jim lowered the book in his hand, allowing it to fall back onto the tabletop with a blunt thud. For a moment he was silent, before suddenly a bemused laugh escaped his lips. The laugh sounded nervous, and Jim’s eyes darted between Sebastian and the door as he spoke.

“You said it yourself, you didn’t want to lose Robin,” he explained cautiously, taking another step back, to which Sebastian copied.

“I was doing you a favour. Just the tiniest ounce of gratitude would be nice.”

“Doing me a favour?”

Jim smiled.

“Think about it, Seb,” he pointed out, slowly approaching the man and wrapping his arms around his waist.

At first Sebastian tried to resist, before eventually giving in to Jim’s embrace. He was still quivering with anger, which must have been evident considering how careful Jim was being. The irishman’s hand gently cupped his jaw, massaging it momentarily, before he leant forward and pressed a daring kiss to Sebastian’s lips.

“You get Robin all to yourself now… We can move to London, start afresh and pretend like none of this happened.”

“We?”

Sebastian broke away from Jim’s kiss, his brow creasing in confusion.

“Me, you, and Robin,” Jim affirmed casually, slipping his hands into his pockets as he observed Sebastian. “One big happy family. We can move to London, resume the network again and raise Robin on the sideline. Like the good old days.”

This time it was Sebastian who was laughing, however his laugh was far from understanding. It was a harsh, humourless bark, that scrunched up his features to resemble a scowl. Sebastian’s teeth were bared like a wild animal, and by the time he stopped laughing his expression was solemn and tired.

“Is that why you came back?” He asked flatly. “So you could get your little revenge?”

“Revenge is a bit overdramatic-“

“But you admit that you killed them just because you were jealous?”

The smile on Jim’s lips wavered uncertainly, and he took another step back.  
  
“I killed them so that I could be with you,” he attempted to convince Sebastian.

But Sebastian laughed again. It was the same barking laugh as before.

“She was Robin’s mother, James. You _machine_ … He’s only a little kid.”

Jim opened his mouth to speak again, but the blond had already cut him off.

_“You fucking machine!”_

Sebastian could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, enough to make his hands tremble and his heart on the verge of exploding. With a sudden, sharp punch he struck a blow to Jim’s head, causing the man to lose his balance and topple over.

Jim’s hands had still been in his pockets during the punch, and despite desperate wriggling and fidgeting he hadn’t been able to get them out quickly enough in time to defend himself. His head collided with the staircase bannister as he fell; an almighty crack sounded, as the limp figure of the irishman collapsed to the floor.

The back of Jim’s head was caked in blood, and Sebastian watched in horror as it soaked through his hair and trickled out onto the carpet below. His skin was alarmingly paler than usual, and his eyes were open and unmoving.

Clumsily, Sebastian stumbled to the ground, crouching down beside the shorter man as he attempted to lift up his head to support him. The back of Jim’s hair was wet with crimson blood, and the wound was fleshy and deep, covered in little splinters from where he had struck the wooden bannister. The ex-soldier gave a distressed grunt, staring at the blood now covering his own hands before he turned his attention towards Jim’s face. He tried to get Jim’s attention, but Jim wasn’t looking at him.

“James?… James you son of a bitch don’t do this to me.”

The blood from the back of Jim’s head continued to pour, hot and relentless. His body was colder than Sebastian remembered it to be, and was limp just like a ragdoll’s. Sebastian prized away one of his hands so that he could check for a pulse or even a heartbeat, smearing fresh blood across Jim’s shirt as he did so and turning it a dirty red colour. But he couldn’t find one.

“James…”

Robin was sat at the top of the staircase now, eyes widened as he stared at the corpse sprawled on the hallway floor.

Sebastian hadn’t noticed the five-year-old watching them, or the mess of blood which soaked the carpet. With an agonising groan he lifted Jim closely up to his chest, attempting to cradle him softly like a child. But Jim’s skin was cold, and his eyes were still open as though he was mocking him. Haunting him. A feeble smile was sprawled across the dead man’s pale lips, a smile that made Sebastian nauseous at the very sight. He refused to let go of Jim, even when Robin began to approach, and cautiously he pressed a tender kiss to the top of his hair, where the blood hadn’t ruined it yet. His perfect hair, along with his perfect black eyes and perfect skin. Despite the blood he looked just as magnificent as he had done when he was still alive - just as cocky, and just as gorgeous.

And Sebastian had taken that all away from him, he had destroyed Jim Moriarty’s whole entire future. He had accidentally killed the man who loved him, the man who he had promised to spend the rest of his life with.

He tried to kiss him once more, but his lips were frozen.

"I'm so sorry, Jim."


	31. Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsure what to do, Sebastian visits an old friend for help.

Sebastian didn’t explain to the five-year-old where they were going, only that they needed to pack their bags and leave as quickly as possible.

The car ride to London took them the entirety of the evening, so that by the time they arrived the sky was already dark and the streets were bustling with nightlife. The stereo was playing in the background, another one of Robin’s cheap children’s CDs which he had bought a few years ago at a car boot sale. A whimsy rendition of ‘the wheels on the bus’ filled the interior of the car, increasingly irritating Sebastian by the second. Playing the CD was the only way that he had been able to stop Robin from asking so many questions, and even if he was subsequently close to losing his sanity it was better than hearing the question “where’s Uncle Jim?” every few seconds. Sebastian’s hand gripped to the steering wheel of the car as they sped through Greenwich, his teeth gritting every time the stupid chorus was repeated over and over again.

The blood stains on his hands were enough to remind Sebastian of why they were running away in the first place. They still hadn’t completely faded; he had been so in a rush to leave that he hadn’t had a chance to wash his hands properly, which also accounted for the splashes of crimson on his shirt. Sebastian had left Jim in the hallway, using only the dinosaur-patterned blanket to cover him up in-case anybody came knocking. He had promised Jim that he would come back afterwards to say a final farewell, but first he had to take care of certain matters.

By the time they arrived in North London Sebastian’s hands were trembling violently, and his face felt hot and constricted. The car was parked outside of a wealthy block of houses, all of which were at least three stories high with different brightly-coloured front doors. Sebastian clambered ungracefully out of the car first, turning off the dreaded stereo before going to collect Robin from the backseat. Despite it being so late the five-year-old was still wide awake; he was still dressed in his stripy jumper and shorts from earlier that day, shivering in the cold whilst his attention was drawn to the blood on Sebastian’s shirt. He had been staring at the blood throughout the entire journey, as noticed by Sebastian through the mirror, and even now the little boy was reluctant to take hold of his father’s hand.

“C’mon, little soldier…I’m not going to hurt you,” Sebastian pleaded desperately, crouching down so that he was at eye-level with the small boy.

The blond waited in silence for a response, but before Robin had a chance to speak the pair were interrupted by the shrill wail of a police-car siren from nearby. Momentarily the street was covered in dancing red and blue specs of light, before suddenly they disappeared again without a trace. Sebastian waited until the police car was completely gone before managing a distressed sigh of relief and composing himself. He looked up to the young boy, who was still rooted fearfully to the ground.

“I would _never_ hurt you,” he added firmly, carefully outstretching his hand and waiting with bated breath.

It took a few minutes, until finally Robin accepted and took hold of it.

“Good boy,” Sebastian whispered shakily, pulling Robin into a brief hug as he buried his face against the boy’s shaggy sandy-coloured hair.

The five-year-old returned the hug, but only hesitantly, and for a sheer few minutes Sebastian remained crying into the arms of his son. His wonderful, precious son.

The front-door of the house in which they were visiting was green, and after knocking three times Sebastian took a step back and waited. A gentle thud pattered down the staircase, and soon the door opened to reveal a short, plump woman, dressed in her nightgown with rosy-cheeks and a confused smile.

“Sebastian?” She asked softly, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face as she recognised the man. “Goodness it’s almost nine-o-clock… And who’s this-“

Maria’s words immediately trailed off at the sight of Sebastian’s bloodied shirt, and without waiting Sebastian ushered Robin inside, past Wellington’s wife and into the hallway. The house was decorated in the same floral pattern that Sebastian remembered, with the occasional vase of flowers as well as old photographs from when Wellington had still been alive. Maria flanked after them with a cry, practically forcing both Sebastian and the five-year-old into the kitchen before slamming the door behind them. There was already movement from upstairs, the ordeal at the door must have awoken the younger members of the family.

“What the Hell is this?!” Maria hissed once the kitchen door was firmly closed.

Her eyes flicked in bewilderment between both Sebastian and the young child, before finally she tore her gaze away so that she could fetch herself a cardigan to cover herself up. Maria looked older now, and a lot more worn than Sebastian remembered her to be. Age certainly hadn’t been kind to the poor woman, then again he supposed after her husband’s death she had been left to raise two children by herself.

Maria eventually returned, this time draped in a thin, pink cardigan, and she took a seat at the kitchen table in order to steady herself.

“I’m sorry for turning up out of the blue, I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t an emergency,” Sebastian promised, his gaze trailing around the kitchen before finally it landed upon the woman once more.

“What type of emergency?”

Maria’s sentence cut off at the sight of the blood stains smeared over Sebastian’s shirt. After staring at them for a few seconds she looked up towards Sebastian for an explanation, but when it became evident that he wasn’t going to give one, it seemingly dawned on her that whatever it was - it was serious.

Robin was planted firmly by his father’s side, almost as if he was scared to move a muscle. His blue eyes kept darting around the room as his hand gripped to the sleeve of Sebastian’s shirt, something which Maria quickly picked up on.

“And who’s this?” She asked tenderly, her expression instantly softening as her mouth lips formed an ‘O’ shape.

“Oh… is this?-“

“Robin,” Sebastian agreed bluntly, ushering the boy forward a little so that he could say hello.

Robin stepped forward but still refused to speak, something which Maria didn’t at all mind. She simply forced a strained smile, offering the boy a friendly nod.

“Well, Robin. Would you like something to eat? You must be hungry,” she asked politely.

Sebastian remained seated whilst Maria scavenged through the fridge, eventually finding a leftover plate of fish fingers to satisfy the hungry five-year-old.

“Let me get this straight, I haven’t heard from you in years and suddenly you turn up at my door with a child you want me to look after?” Maria questioned skeptically, checking the timer before carefully placing the food into the microwave and closing the metal door.

The microwave pinged a few minutes later, and Maria gently picked up the plate of food before placing it in-front of Robin on the table. The five-year-old said nothing, not even a ‘thank-you’, he simply picked up a spoon and began to nibble on a few stray peas that had rolled off of his plate.

She watched the boy closely for a few minutes to make sure that he was okay, before abruptly out of the blue she turned to Sebastian and swatted him furiously around the back of the head.

“…I hardly saw you after the funeral. You could have sent me a text, an email, just anything to let me know that you were okay,” Maria scolded seethingly, glaring at the man before taking a seat opposite from him.

“I know it was hard, what with Wellington’s death and then Jim’s… but you shouldn’t have left me in the dark, Sebastian. Not for all these years.”

Sebastian grunted in pain, rubbing the back of his head where Maria had hit him. The mention of Jim made him shudder, and he swallowed thickly before replying:

“I need Robin to stay here,” he whispered adamantly, checking to make sure that the five-year-old was still immersed in his food before leaning in close to Maria’s ear.

“I can’t tell you why, I can’t explain anything just yet, but he’ll be safe here with you.”

Maria laughed immediately in disbelief, massaging her face as though this was all just some terrible dream.

“And what about the costs?-“

“I’ll transfer money,” Sebastian interrupted desperately, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder to stop her from moving. “I’ll pay for everything, I’ll do whatever I need to.”

Robin placed down his spoon with a defiant clatter, breaking both Sebastian and Maria away from their intimate conversation.

Maria forced a smile immediately and sprung to her feet, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder as she collected his now-empty plate of fish fingers.

“Good boy. Did you enjoy it?” She asked softly, to which Robin nodded his head at.

Even Sebastian managed a smile of relief at the response, flashing a half-hearted grin across the table to Robin whilst Maria scooped any remaining crumbs into the bin.

“You don’t have to worry about the money, he’ll be fine here,” The woman gave in finally.

“So you’ll take him?”

“Yes I’ll take him,” she agreed with an exasperated sigh, dumping the plate into the sink before coming to rejoin Sebastian at the table. “But I can’t promise it’ll be permanent. You forget that I already have two children, Sebastian, things are hard enough as they are.”

Instead of grinning, Sebastian could only manage a weak smile - a smile which soon turned to a grimace as he rested his head in his hands and wept. Maria understood at once, and hastily wrapped her arms around Sebastian’s waist in order to comfort him. The blond’s tremendous sobs filled the room, gaining not only Robin’s attention but attention from the two other children who were spying from the gap in the door.

It was shortly afterwards when Sebastian decided that it was time to leave.

They all gathered in the hallway; Sebastian, Maria, and Robin, who was dressed in a pair of starry pyjamas leant to him by Maria’s youngest daughter. In his hands he clutched to the cuddly toy tiger, which hadn’t left his side since first leaving Cornwall. There was a firm frown on Robin’s face, and it was evident that he still didn’t quite know what was going on. Both Sebastian and Maria had attempted to explain to him that he would be staying in London from now on, but each time the sulky five-year-old had simply refused to listen and started to cry.

“And are you certain you aren’t coming back?” Maria asked in a hushed tone, away from the attention of Robin.

“Yes,” Sebastian promised. “I won’t bother you any longer. Just take care of him, please?”

Maria nodded, and the pair shared a short, awkward embrace before eventually stepping back again. She sighed, and slowly they both turned to the young both stood waiting impatiently by the door. His cheeks were puffy and tear-stained and his eyes were hazy, a clear sign that he was in desperate need of a good night’s sleep.

“Robin?’ Sebastian asked lowly, crouching down so that he was at the five-year-old’s level once more. “You’ll be good, won’t you? I need you to listen to everything that Maria tells you to do and play nicely.”

Robin blinked, a confused pout wavering on his bottom lip.

“Where are you going?” He protested sulkily.

Sebastian sniffed, hesitating momentarily as he thought of how to answer the question. But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled Robin into a tight hug, cradling him closely as he clutched to the back of the boy’s head.

“You make me so, so proud, little soldier,” he whispered softly, his voice muffled by the embrace.

“…You’re going to do great things, I know you are. And I am so sorry, believe me when I say that. I should have been a better father… I love you, kiddo.”

The embrace only ended when Maria tapped Sebastian lightly on the shoulder, and with a heavy sigh he forced himself away. He pressed a final kiss to Robin’s temple, a nervous smile still twitching at his lips, until finally he got to his feet and opened the door.

“Take care of yourself, won’t you Sebastian?” Wellington’s wife pleaded, holding out an arm just before Sebastian took a step to leave.

Sebastian merely smiled uncomfortably at her.

“Don’t let anybody hurt a hair on his head,” he whispered plainly. “He’s a good kid. He’s a really good fucking kid.”

The drive back to Cornwall was completed in silence, this time without the annoying children’s CD playing on the stereo. Now that it was gone, Sebastian almost missed the racket, the shrill laughter and the temper tantrums from the backseat, the stupid music which always filled the car. All of Robin’s belongings had long since gone, all of which had been handed over to Maria just before he left London. Sebastian had left her a detailed list of Robin’s usual routine, of what he liked and what he didn’t like, although he was sure that the five-year-old would happily inform her himself.

Robin had never been afraid to speak his mind, even during the worst of times. Sebastian guessed that that trait came from his mother, after all it certainly didn’t come from him. He was a coward, a spineless coward who had lost everything. And that included his son. Maybe if he hadn’t invited Jim back then things would have been okay, or if he had followed in Jim’s footsteps and killed himself when he first had the chance to.

The drive home was long and exhausting, but no matter how tired Sebastian felt he kept driving. His hands remained firmly gripped to the steering wheel the whole time, almost as if in a way to stop himself from feeling anything. The drive was the perfect distraction, a way to forget about everything that had happened just for a few sombre hours. Sebastian didn’t make his usual pit stop for food or even a quick cigarette, he kept driving. He drove until finally in the dim light he could make out the signpost for Cornwall.

By the time Sebastian arrived back at the flat it was almost dawn; the warm orange glow of the sun was starting to peek above the horizons, and the birds were preparing their birdsong for the long day ahead.

The blond climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he traipsed up the long flight of stairs towards his apartment. The front-door was already ajar, meaning that the dog must have ran off and escaped whilst he was busy in London. ‘ _Lucky bugger_ ,’ Sebastian thought to himself, slipping inside the flat and closing the door sharply behind him.

Jim was still there, unmoving under the blanket.

Sebastian tried removing the blanket, but the same, ghostly face was still staring back at him each time. Jim’s black eyes were still open and glassy, and that same cruel smirk was still etched onto his lips. A final reminder of how much of a prick Jim Moriarty had been and still was. In the end the blond plucked up the courage to close Jim’s eyes as a way of preserving his dignity, pressing a last kiss to his forehead before wrapping him back up in the blanket once more.

“I’m just heading out, Jim, I won’t be long.”

Sebastian picked up his phone from the tabletop, toying with it momentarily before reluctantly calling for the police. The call was only short, with Sebastian making up some false lie about a burglary that had taken place, and the receiver explained that officers would be arriving to the flat shortly in order to inspect it. It gave him the perfect window to leave.

Just before leaving, Sebastian casted one concluding gaze around the apartment, just to take it all in. Despite having spent the majority of his adult life living alone, somehow now the flat seemed more lonely than ever. Robin’s terrible drawings were still stuck to the fridge, whereas his kite was still propped against the wall from where Sebastian had forgotten to pack it. From where he stood he could faintly see the cliffs out of the kitchen window, shrouded by clouds and making them almost impossible to view clearly. Cornwall had served him well since his army discharge, but it certainly was nothing compared to London.

“See you later, James.”

By the time Sebastian trekked up to the top of the cliff dawn had already broken, and the warm orange glow from before was now reflected down onto the little village and the surrounding sea. It had taken at least a ten minute walk, meaning that by now the police officers would already be at the flat searching the place. He hoped that Jim would be okay, and that the officers treated him with dignity, however the furious howl of the wind didn’t allow him much time to dwell on his thoughts.

No doubt the press would be crawling with the news, he could already imagine tomorrow morning’s headlines. Tabloids were such ghastly things, Sebastian had never understood why Jim got so much enjoyment out of them. Apart from the articles about Holmes of course.

No doubt Holmes would find his own pleasure from the story.

A sudden, sharp gust of wind almost knocked Sebastian from his perch, enough to send him flying down into the stormy depths below. If Jim was here then he would have branded it as ironic (or more like _moronic_ ), but thankfully he wasn’t so Sebastian didn’t have to think about it. How the man so terrified of death was here, about to take his own life.

In a mere few hours he’d simply become another statistic, another number for the news reporters to flaunt in their coverage. He’d be known as ‘just another jumper’, and no doubt have the piss taken out of him by the locals at the pub during quiz night, but oddly he didn’t mind so much. It was far better than being remembered as Sebastian Moran; the failed ex-soldier and father, the man who had let down everybody around him and gotten them all killed just through his arrogance.

Now that was ironic. Sebastian had always been so scared of Jim taking his life, of Jim one day calling it quits and opting for a way out. The blond could almost feel his presence there, curled around him like a snake or a parasite. Jim was whispering in his ear, tickling the back of his neck and causing his hair to prick upwards and stand on end.

_‘What are you waiting for, ‘Bastian? Do it. I’m waiting.’_

There came another almighty gust of wind, an indication that it was time to go.

Ever so slowly, Sebastian shuffled his feet to the edge of the clifftop, staring down at the rocky waters below. For once they looked relatively calm, unbothered by the rain or snow. The waves gently crashed against the shore, and a few seagulls were sat basking in the warm water, searching for their next meal. He wasn’t scared, or at least he kept telling himself that. Everything around him, from the rocks, to the water, to the seagulls appeared to be egging him on, providing that last final push for Sebastian to hurry up and just go. Even the waves below were getting stronger and fiercer. They were growing impatient.

_‘I told you, didn’t I? We’d go out together, just like Bonnie and Clyde.’_

Without thinking, Sebastian clenched his eyes shut, and constricted his chest. He wanted to outstretch his arms, but he couldn’t bring himself too. The fear was holding him back. He shuffled closer to the edge, his shoes scraping against the gravel until finally he could sense the drop. The drop was bigger than he imagined, perhaps it was only a good thing that he couldn’t see the sea. Maybe if he had agreed to go back to London with Jim then things wouldn’t have ended up this way. They could have been happy together, away from the past. Robin could go to school, he and Jim could restart the network together. But it was an impossible dream.

Sebastian thought of Robin first, the sweet, innocent boy who he had been proud to raise as his own. He was probably fast asleep in the comfort of Maria’s home by now, no-doubt under the watchful eye of Wellington’s wife herself. He’d learn to cope eventually, Sebastian didn’t doubt that for a second. Maria would serve as a wonderful mother for the boy, as would his new siblings. Robin had always wanted siblings after all.

Then Sebastian turned his thoughts to Jim. But what was there to say about Jim?

The definition of a machine was simple enough: something with several parts, all of which worked together to perform a particular task. By the definition alone, humans and machines didn’t sound too far apart from each-other - the only difference being that humans were alive. Jim Moriarty had been alive too; he had had a heart, even if sometimes he didn’t show it, he had breathed and pumped blood just like any other person did. He smiled, laughed occasionally, and was just as alive as any other person had been.

Sebastian’s last ever words to Jim had been calling him a machine, relating him to a useless piece of scrap metal. He regretted those final words more than anything, yet still he regretted even more not answering the question. The question that he had asked Jim all those years ago:

_‘What are you, James? What are we?’_

Now he understood it.

Jim Moriarty had never been a machine. And neither had Sebastian Moran.

They were human.

And with that Sebastian leant his body forwards, and jumped.

_‘Atta boy. I missed you.’_


End file.
